Stay By My Side
by dS-Tiff
Summary: Ray's Dad is taken ill just before Christmas which causes Ray no end of worry, but he's not the only one with problems over the festive season. Then a new friend finds herself in grave danger, but could there be romance on the horizon for the most unlikely of people?
1. Chapter 1

**Some elements of this story are loosely based on real events that happened to a very dear friend of mine. I can't thank her enough for allowing me to write her story. **

Chapter 1

"Are you sure your parents won't object to me accompanying you? Your mother only invited you in her telephone call." Constable Benton Fraser walked through the trailer park with the detective currently known as Ray Vecchio (while the real Ray Vecchio was working undercover) and his half-wolf Diefenbaker who was running around excitedly. He was always well fed at the Kowalski's.

"Relax buddy," grinned Ray, "Mum always makes far too much food and she loves ya, she won't mind."

The trailer park had been decorated for Christmas, although there was still three weeks to go. Long strings of twinkling lights hung between the lamp columns and there was a huge fir tree at the edge of the path that led from the visitors parking area to the trailers themselves that proudly displayed an abundance of brightly coloured baubles and the like. It was unseasonably warm though for December and it didn't really feel like Christmas yet to Ray.

"It is rather impolite to arrive unannounced," continued Fraser. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Ray's parents. They were lovely people, but Ray was only just starting to rebuild his relationship with them after many years when things between them had been strained, particularly with his father, almost to breaking point at times. Fraser realised, of course, that was the reason why Ray had insisted he come along in the first place, as the prospect of spending the entire evening alone with his parents still made him nervous.

"Mum keeps doin' this," explained Ray, "she keeps cookin' for me. She thinks, er, that I'm not eatin' properly."

"Then she'd be correct," responded Fraser and Ray glared at him. "Well it's true, your calorific intake is sporadic at best," Fraser continued, "and the vast majority of your nutrition, if one can call it that, is derived from junk food."

Ray stopped walking and spun round to face his partner. He jabbed his finger at the Mountie and was about to angrily defend his eating habits when he realised what Fraser was trying to do. "Oh real clever buddy," he said, "ya get me all wound up so I'll tell ya to take a hike and, er, then ya get out of comin' with me," he grinned. "I'm not fallin' for that buddy."

Fraser did his best to look completely innocent, but he couldn't fool Ray, not any more.

"Quit worryin' Fraser, they'll be pleased to see ya!" Ray exclaimed and climbed the two small steps to the front door of his parents' motorhome. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but before he got chance the door was flung open and Ray's father, Damien Kowalski stood there beaming from ear to ear.

"Raymond!" he hugged his son, taking Ray completely by surprise. "We were starting to think you weren't coming...oh hello Benton." Damien's face fell when he noticed the Mountie standing at the foot of the steps.

Fraser was just about to make an excuse to leave when Ray's mother, Barbara, appeared. "Stanley, you're almost ten minutes late!" She exclaimed, pushing past her husband and also hugging her son tightly.

Ray was starting to freak out. What the hell was wrong with his folks? Were they drunk? He'd never seen his mother drink much alcohol except the odd sherry at Christmas and his Dad liked the occasional cold beer...wait, what was he thinking? Of course they weren't drunk, but something was definitely queer.

"Mr and Mrs Kowalski," Fraser removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. "I'm afraid there appears to have been a small misunderstanding..." he began.

Dief barked. What was all this talking for? When could they start eating?

"Benton!" Now it was Barbara's turn to clearly display her dismay at his presence. She looked at Ray and frowned sharply. "Stanley," she whispered, "you know I love Benton dearly, but tonight was meant to be...well, your father and I thought..."

"Mum, Fraser and I are workin' on a case, right buddy?" Ray looked to his friend with his eyebrows raised. _Come on buddy, play along._

Well that part was true anyway. They were indeed working on a case together. "Yes," Fraser was confidently able to reply. He had a bad feeling though that Ray was going to be embellishing the truth from now on and he would be expected to lie to Ray's parents. He was a terrible liar.

"So, er, we thought we'd grab some of your outstandin' casserole and then get back to work," Ray stepped into the motorhome, forcing his parents to step backwards to let him in. He turned to Fraser. "Come on buddy, pitter patter."

Fraser froze momentarily. This was very awkward. "Um, um..." he mumbled and then sighed. It was no use, whatever he did now was going to offend someone. Besides, he was also curious as to what exactly was causing Mr and Mrs Kowalski to behave in such a peculiar manner. He followed Ray into the motorhome and almost crashed into his friend who had stopped dead in his tracks.

Already sat at the small table was a woman in her early thirties. She had long dark hair tied behind her head with a large clasp and was free of make-up. She was wearing a plain t-shirt with an open shirt over the top and Fraser noticed a fob watch clipped to her shirt pocket. Either she simply disliked having a timepiece strapped to her wrist in the usual way, or wearing a watch in her professional life would be considered unhygienic, perhaps she was in healthcare, thought Fraser. She was looking a little nervous and blushed as soon as she saw Ray and Fraser. "Er, hi," she said in a quiet voice.

"Raymond, this is Melissa," Damien introduced her. "This is my son Raymond," he said proudly, adding, "he's divorced." Ray could have kicked him in the head.

"Mel, just Mel is fine," the young woman smiled awkwardly.

"And I go by Ray," replied Ray. "This is my buddy Benton Fraser."

"Most people call me Fraser," smiled the Mountie, trying to make conversation. "Or, Benton," he added. Then after a pause... "Or Ben, some people prefer that. Of course professionally I would most usually be referred to as Constable."

"Fraser, shut it," snapped Ray. Fraser immediately looked at the floor sheepishly. Ray looked to his Mum for an explanation.

"Your father and I know Melissa quite well," said Barbara with a smile, "and we thought you two should meet." She glanced to her husband nervously. Damien responded with a not-very-subtle thumbs up sign.

_Jeez_, thought Ray, _my folks are trying to set me up with a total stranger!_ He couldn't quite believe it, they'd never done this before.

There was a long awkward silence. Ray glared at his Mum, he couldn't look at poor Melissa in the eye. His detective instincts were telling him that she was just as much in the dark about his parents' little scheme as he was.

Eventually the silence was broken by Diefenbaker pushing his way between Fraser's legs and making his presence known. Melissa screamed.

"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry," said Fraser, glaring at Dief. "He's perfectly harmless, however he can smell Mrs Kowalski's delicious casserole and I'm afraid that he has very little willpower when it comes to food," he paused for a second and Diefenbaker jumped up, putting his paws on the kitchen surface. "Or manners," added Fraser. "Dief, down...down!" he commanded, but the wolf ignored him.

"Don't worry," Barbara petted Dief between the ears, "there's plenty for you too...although I'm afraid you may have to eat yours outside." She looked around her tiny home. It was plenty big enough for her and Damien, but there really wasn't enough room for all these people and a wolf to be comfortable.

"I'd also be quite happy to eat outside," said Fraser, dragging Dief by the scruff of his neck towards the door. "In fact, Dief and I will decline your kind offer of dinner Mrs Kowalski and return to the Consulate. Ray can meet us there later."

"No!" snapped Ray, "sit down Fraser. You're not goin' nowhere."

"Anywhere, Ray," Fraser corrected him, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Greatness!" grinned Ray.

Fraser wasn't entirely sure if Ray had tricked him with his use of a double negative or not. Damien made them all sit down and then began to tell them all about their most recent trip along the path of the Mississippi, while Barbara prepared the food. "There are some lovely places down there," he said. Everyone smiled politely. Ray fidgeted even more than he normally did.

Mel was really trying to be nice and show an interest in Damien's tales, but inside she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with Ray. When she'd accepted the Kowalski's dinner invitation, they hadn't mentioned that their son would be there. He's not unattractive, she thought, but he seems kind of edgy. She was quite a laid back person normally, she didn't worry too much about what other people thought of her and she didn't spend hours on her appearance. Her jeans were starting to wear thin on one knee, but she kept forgetting to patch them up, it didn't occur to her to buy a new pair. As long as she was smart and presentable, especially at work, then that was enough. This guy, on the other hand, looked as though he spent hours fixing his hair which she thought was slightly odd for a guy.

Fraser looked at Melissa who had been keeping one eye on Diefenbaker the whole time. She caught his eye and then suddenly got to her feet. "Um, actually, I just remembered, I have to be somewhere," she said. Clearly she had as much difficulty lying convincingly to people as Fraser did. "I have to...return a library book," she added, pushing past everyone and virtually running out of the door before anyone could stop her.

_Oh dear_, thought Fraser, _the library closed hours ago._

"Melissa, don't go!" cried Damien and moved to go after her, but his wife pulled him back. She could see that this might have been a mistake after all.

"Let's all eat," smiled Barbara, putting some plates on the small table.

Fraser nodded, but Ray let out a frustrated growl and ran out of the door after Melissa, to his parents' surprise. Fraser looked awkwardly from Barbara to Damien. "Well," he said, feeling he should say something. "I must, er, say how well those new curtains compliment the, er, the..." he trailed off, completely unable to finish his sentence.

Outside, Ray ran to catch up with Melissa who was half way back to her car already. "Mel, wait up," he called. She stopped and turned to face him. "Hey, er, I'm sorry about my folks," he said, grinning with embarrassment.

"It's fine," Mel tried to smile. "It looks like we were both kind of set up."

Ray nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.

"I'm sure they had the best of intentions," she said and Ray nodded. "Well, um, it was nice meeting you," she said and turned back to her car.

Ray stood there for a few minutes, hanging his head as she drove away. He needed to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Did his parents really not understand him at all? Were they really that out of touch? Sadly he turned and walked back towards the motorhome. When he got back inside, Fraser and his Mum and Dad were already eating. Dief had found a place in the corner to stand and eat his own generous portion. Silently, Ray sat down and cleaned his plate as fast as he could. Damien and Fraser talked briefly about some place in Canada that Ray had never heard of, but apart from that no one said a word as they ate, especially not about Melissa. As Barbara began to clear the plates, Ray leapt up from the chair and grabbed his coat. "Come on Fraser," he said abruptly. "Thanks for dinner Mum." He threw his coat on and kissed his mother on the cheek before heading for the door.

Fraser got to his feet too as Ray walked out of the motorhome. "The meal was delicious as always Mrs Kowalski, thank you kindly" he smiled.

"That's very kind of you," replied Barbara, "you're always welcome here and will you please call me Barbara," she added. "We don't stand on ceremony, do we Damien."

"No we don't," replied Damien gruffly. He shook Fraser's hand. "My name's Damien, you may as well use it." He was still seething about what had happened earlier and he didn't mean to take it out on Fraser. He didn't want to argue with his son about it either, they'd done enough of that over the years. Melissa was a lovely girl, she spoke to them every week in the supermarket and it was nice to have regular contact with people. They'd spent so much time travelling in recent years, but now he was starting to feel like he wanted a permanent home, he was getting old and he tired more easily than he used to. He was also enjoying getting to know his son again, something he thought he'd never do, not after everything that had happened between them, or more accurately, everything that hadn't happened between them.

"Yes Sir," replied Fraser, shaking his hand, "I mean, Damien," he corrected himself. "Thank you for your hospitality." He picked up his hat and leather jacket and followed his partner out into the night. Dief reluctantly ran after them.

"I thought ya were stayin' the night," snapped Ray as Fraser caught up with him.

"Ray, if you don't mind me saying," Fraser began, but Ray knew what was coming.

"Don't buddy," he said, "they had no right to do that. I can get my own girlfriends, OK. Now, er, let's just forget about it."

"Right you are," replied Fraser. He decided against pointing out that Ray's love life had been largely non-existent since his divorce from Stella. Fraser had no room to talk anyway, his had been far worse.

They reached the GTO and Ray opened the door. Fraser walked round to the other side and was about to open his own door when he saw the Kowalski's running towards them. Well, running was perhaps an exaggeration. Damien was jogging slowly and panting heavily as he did so while Barbara was barely keeping up behind him, using more of a fast walk. "Ray," Fraser nodded towards them. Ray looked up and then dropped his forehead onto the roof of his car with a thud. He didn't want to talk to them now, not in this mood, because he'd probably say something he'd regret later. "Pretend we haven't seen them," he hissed at Fraser.

Fraser's mouth fell open. "We can't do that!" he exclaimed and raised a hand to wave to Ray's parents.

Ray scowled at his partner. Then he took a deep breath and forced a smile onto his lips.

"Your mother and I have been talking," began Damien as he finally reached them, but he couldn't say any more, he was too out of breath. Fraser looked at him with slight concern. Damien Kowalski was a little overweight, probably due to too much of Barbara's delicious home cooking and too long spent sat at the wheel of their motorhome. Running was clearly an activity he rarely participated in.

"Why don't you both come here for dinner on Christmas day?" asked Barbara, taking over from her husband. She was also overweight, but the demands of keeping her albeit small home in perfect order, not to mention the additional work she undertook these days in an attempt to keep her son and his home looking half way respectable, meant she was clearly fitter than Damien. The idea about Christmas had just slipped into her head and she'd become instantly excited at the prospect. This evening hadn't gone at all how she had imagined and she wanted desperately to make it up to her son. Christmas had been just her and her husband for so many years and although she always made sure they had a special meal to celebrate, it wasn't the same as the old family Christmases they'd had when Ray was a child. "We'll put up decorations and I'll get a turkey and a ham," she was starting to think ahead of herself now. "You're almost part of the family Benton." She smiled warmly.

Fraser couldn't deny that the idea of a family Christmas was appealing. The last few years he'd spent Christmas with the Vecchio's, even after the real Ray Vecchio had left and it had been enjoyable, if a little hectic. He'd always been made to feel welcome and very much part of the family, but each year there were more and more people around the dinner table and Fraser felt sure that Ma Vecchio wouldn't mind if he declined her invitation this year. "That would be lovely Mrs...um, Barbara," he smiled. "Wouldn't it Ray." He turned to his partner and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Ray's response.

"Yep," replied Ray, curtly. "Just don't ever try anythin' like that again." He knew he shouldn't have said it, but it just slipped out.

"Raymond, she's a lovely girl," began Damien, but he was interrupted by his wife.

"We're sorry Stanley, but we just want to see you happy," she smiled and put her arm around him, squeezing tightly until he found it hard to breathe.

Just then Diefenbaker began to bark loudly and run to and fro. Fraser frowned at him and was about to reprimand his wolf when he smelled it too. "Smoke," he said seriously. He glanced back towards the trailer park and gasped when he saw a pillar of smoke twisting up into the night sky accompanied by bright orange flames dancing above the top of the trees. "Ray call the Fire Department!" shouted Fraser and set off towards the fire. Ray already had his phone in his hand and was punching out 911.

"That's our home!" cried Barbara and she started after Fraser, trying to remember if she'd turned off the cooker or left something burning.

"Oh god no!" exclaimed Damien and began running back too, faster than he had just now.

Ray wasn't entirely sure that the flames were coming from his parents' motorhome, from this angle it looked like the fire may be in an adjacent vehicle, but as soon as he'd finished talking to the emergency operator he started to follow them. Something was definitely on fire and knowing Fraser he was about to attempt a heroic rescue of either person or property and Ray wasn't going to let his buddy put himself in danger, not alone anyway. Fraser had almost reached the row of trees already, when Ray saw his father stop suddenly. He stood perfectly still for less than a second before falling to the ground. Ray's blood ran cold as his mother screamed and he ran to get to them. "Fraser!" he yelled at his buddy as he fell to his knees beside his fallen Dad. He rolled the larger man over onto his back and his mind went blank. He knew first aid, he knew CPR...should he do CPR now? His father wasn't lying still though, he was kind of shaking and making a strange gasping noise and even under the dim light of the Christmas Tree Ray could see he was turning a really unhealthy colour. "He's having a heart attack!" Ray panicked, this was his fault, he'd upset his parents and now his Dad was going to die. He had so much he wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to make up for, all those lost years...this couldn't happen now, it just couldn't. He looked up at his Mum who was frozen with fear.

Instantly Fraser was beside them. Smoke began to billow in their direction and the flames were getting higher by the second, but Fraser had to put all thoughts of helping anyone else to the back of his mind. Ray's father was his first and only priority now. He checked Damien's pulse, prised his eyelids open briefly and then rolled the man back onto his side, cradling Damien's head in his hand to stop him injuring himself on the hard concrete path as he convulsed. "No Ray," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "He's having some kind of seizure. Call an ambulance."

xXx

Ray wanted to pace. Sitting still was driving him mad, but he knew he had to hold his mother's hand while they waited for news.

Fraser was sitting the other side of Barbara trying not to worry. Damien had stopped fitting before the ambulance arrived and had been reasonably responsive which was a good sign. He glanced at Ray, wishing he could do or say something to calm his friend and his poor mother. Fraser realised that Barbara was naturally terrified of losing her husband, but for Mr and Mrs Kowalski the prospect of being without the other scared them more than most. They'd spent the last few years with just each other for company, travelling the country in their motorhome. Occasionally they'd stay in one place for a few months, but not long enough to really make friends or feel truly at home. If anything ever happened to one of them, the other would be totally lost.

A doctor walked round the corner carrying a file. "Mrs Kowalski?" he said approaching them. Ray and Fraser leapt to their feet. Barbara couldn't move.

"I'm Ray Kowalski," said Ray, "how's my Dad, is he OK?"

The doctor smiled reassuringly. "Yes, he's fine," he said and Barbara let out a whimper of relief. "We do need to run some more tests to establish exactly what happened, but the specialist will explain all that to you. If you'd like to come with me, Mr Kowalski is anxious to see you both."

Ray and Fraser helped Barbara to her feet. "I'll wait here for you," smiled Fraser as Ray and his mother went with the doctor.

Fraser sat back down in his chair and glanced over to Diefenbaker. "You do realise that everyone can see you," he said. Dief was hiding behind a large potted plant and made a quiet noise in his throat. "I imagine they're just humouring you," retorted Fraser. Dief yapped. "No I don't have a doughnut," hissed Fraser, "this is a hospital." He rolled his eyes and folded his arms, deliberately turning away from the wolf. Just then he heard a disturbance and immediately became concerned.

"Please, you have to wait here," a female nurse was pleading with a man and frogmarching him towards the waiting area, assisted by a male colleague.

"No, I have to stay with her," the man sounded desperate and tried to shake himself free.

"We're doing everything we can for your wife," the male nurse spoke now, "but you're getting in the way, you must sit here."

The man was distraught now and Fraser realised that he smelled strongly of smoke. "Excuse me," he said, "I'm sorry, I realise this must be a difficult time, but have you come from the fire at the trailer park?"

The man looked at Fraser. "Yes," he whispered, "my wife was asleep in our trailer and I went outside to get something from the car and I turned back and...I tried to get to her...but the flames and the smoke..." the man broke down again.

"I'll come back as soon as I have some news," said the female nurse, smiling at Fraser and she left with her colleague.

Fraser led the man to a chair. "Can I get you some water?" he asked.

The man shook his head. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," Fraser introduced himself. "I'm here with a friend who's parents also live at the trailer park."

"Oh no, I didn't realise anyone else was hurt," the man said, "I think the flames spread, it all happened so quickly."

"Do you believe the fire started in your trailer Sir?" Fraser enquired.

The man nodded. "Yes, ours was definitely the only one burning to start with...oh god..." he couldn't speak any more as the images overwhelmed him again.

Fraser wanted to ask him more questions. There was every chance that the fire was an accident, but until they had the report from the Fire Department there was always the possibility that the blaze had been started deliberately. Fraser sat with the man while he waited for news of his wife. When a doctor finally came, he was told that his wife was stable but still very seriously ill. Fraser felt so sorry for him as he was led away to see her.

xXx

"Mum, really, I'm fine on the couch," Ray's mother had only been staying at his apartment for an hour and five minutes so far, but already she was driving him crazy. It had been a struggle to stop her baking brownies as soon as they'd got back from the hospital.

"But I can't throw you out of your bed Stanley?" she protested, "I'll book into a hotel tomorrow."

"Ya don't need to go to a hotel?" Ray sighed. "Mum, it's 2am, go to bed, I doubt I'll sleep much anyway."

Barbara suddenly realised how tired she was. It had been a very long night so far and she'd wanted to stay with Damien at the hospital, but Ray and Fraser had eventually managed to persuade her to leave. Damien was comfortable and out of danger, although he didn't have a firm diagnosis and they were going to be putting him through a series of medical tests tomorrow. Barbara kissed her son on both cheeks and then turned to Fraser. "I can't thank you enough for what you did tonight," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "I thought...I thought he was..."

"I'm just glad I could be of assistance," replied Fraser modestly. Barbara kissed him too and then went into the bedroom.

Ray slumped down onto the couch and let out a huge sigh. Fraser waited for a moment, he had a feeling he knew what was coming next. He wasn't wrong, Ray had held his emotions in check all the while he was trying to be strong for his mother. Ray let his head drop into his hands as he broke down and Fraser sat beside him and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Sorry buddy..." Ray whispered between sobs.

"It's quite alright, I understand," replied Fraser gently and he allowed Ray to deal with his emotions the only way his friend knew how.

Eventually Ray was able to compose himself. He looked at Fraser. "Thanks," he whispered and Fraser smiled supportively. "Jeez," Ray leapt to his feet. "He's OK, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm, er, I'm gonna be a mess when one of 'em does eventually, y'know..." he trailed off, thoughts of his parents dying were too much to bear right now. Then suddenly he felt sick. "Oh jeez buddy, I'm sorry..." now he was overwhelmed by guilt. Fraser had lost his own mother when he was just a child and his father only a few years ago. "I...I wasn't thinkin'."

"Ray, please, you don't have to apologise," smiled Fraser, "It's fine, my father's death was..." he had no idea how to put his thoughts into words. He decided that it wasn't important at this time, Ray's father was alive and that was all that mattered tonight. "You and your mother have had a terrifying few hours and your father will need your support in the coming days. I will do everything I can to assist you both. Now would you like me to get you anything before I leave?"

Ray grinned. "Ya want me to say tea, don't ya."

"Well as you know, certain blends do have proven benefits in terms of health and wellbeing," Fraser began. He picked up his hat and pulled something out from inside it. "Here," he said, passing the small item to Ray. "Boiling water, let it brew for four minutes and sip it slowly. It should assist you in falling asleep."

Ray took the teabag from his buddy and grinned. "Thanks Fraser," he said. "See ya tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next morning Fraser was at the Two Seven before Ray. He busied himself tidying Ray's paperwork, marvelling at his friend's uncanny ability to lose things on his desk. He counted three take-away cartons, two wristwatches and a packet of chocolate cookies that were five months past their use-by date among the finds, not to mention three Police files that Lieutenant Welsh had been looking for for several weeks. Fraser had just finished putting everything in neat piles when the door swung open and Ray walked in. "Good morning Ray," he smiled. "How is your mother?"

"Um, good, I just dropped her back at the, er, the hospital," began Ray. "Oh ya found my watch! Thanks buddy," he grinned, picking up one of the watches and fastening it around his wrist. Then he noticed the other one. "Oh, ya found my other watch!"

Fraser considered discussing Ray's complete lack of organisation and how it may be detrimental to the timely conclusion of Police work, but he thought better of it.

"I stopped by the trailer park," Ray said, his voice a little more subdued now.

"Oh dear, how bad is the damage?" asked Fraser.

"Um, bad," replied Ray, "well, I guess it could be worse. The motorhome's a write off, but I, er, I think I can salvage some of my folks' stuff, it wasn't totally burnt out."

"I will help you undertake that task," Fraser offered and Ray smiled an acknowledgement. "I understand the fire started in another trailer," continued Fraser

"Yeah," nodded Ray. "Pretty obvious which one it was too." Then he frowned. "How did ya know that?" he asked.

"I was talking with one of the other residents last night in the hospital, he gave his name only as Luke," explained Fraser, "his wife was seriously injured in the fire. It would appear that their trailer was the source of the blaze."

"Oh, er, tall guy, kinda straggly hair, er..." Ray closed his eyes as he tried to remember the man's name, "Hoffman...I think? Yeah, Luke Hoffman."

"I'm afraid I didn't ask his surname," admitted Fraser, "he was in a rather distressed state. As I understand it, his wife suffered severe burns and the effects of smoke inhalation."

"Jeez," Ray hung his head sadly. "I only talked with them a couple times, but they seemed like a really nice couple. Her name's Tammy, she works over in that steakhouse on West Washington Street. Y'know, the one with the green window frames and those, er, swinging flower things."

"Hanging baskets?" suggested Fraser and Ray nodded. Fraser did indeed know the eatery his partner was referring to.

"Are you talking about the fire?" Francesca sidled up to them, standing unnecessarily close to Fraser.

"Indeed we are," replied Fraser, clearing his throat and trying not to notice the Civilian Aid's very low cut top.

Francesca smiled up at him. "You smell nice today Frase," she said.

"Have ya got some info about the fire?" snapped Ray as Fraser's face flushed red.

"Jeez bro, what's with you this morning?" Francesca snarled at him.

"My Dad's in the hospital," replied Ray with a sneer, "kinda makes a guy grouchy, y'know."

"Oh," Francesca replied quietly. She already knew about Ray's dad of course. "Sorry." She handed him a piece of paper fresh off the printer. "Initial report from the Fire Department," she said, "it was arson. They found two empty fuel cans."

"Thank you kindly Francesca," said Fraser as she walked back to her desk. He quickly read the report. "Oh dear," he said, "it appears the fire was set underneath the trailer occupied by Luke and Tamara Hoffman, it would have taken hold very quickly. If the young woman was asleep she would have been very quickly overcome by smoke and flames. The fire also damaged six additional units, one of which was your parents' of course."

Ray sighed. "So we'd better check into Luke and his wife, see if they, er, had any enemies..."

"No you won't Detective," Lieutenant Welsh appeared from his office, "I'm giving this one to Huey and Dewey."

"What! No way," exclaimed Ray crossing to his Lieutenant, "I need this one."

"You need to take some time off to be with your folks," replied Welsh. Fraser knew Ray wasn't going to like that. He needed to be kept busy, he wasn't one for sitting around, he needed to be doing something, he needed to keep his mind occupied or he'd just worry himself stupid about his father's health.

"Sir, some freaky arsonist burnt my parent's home, I gotta work this," Ray protested.

"No Detective, this one belongs to the Duck Boys," Welsh replied gruffly, "You have other things to deal with, I don't want to see you back here until next week."

Ray was mad now, his nostrils flared with anger and it took all his self restraint not to kick his Lieutenant in the head. Instead he turned and stormed out of the squad room, with Diefenbaker running after him.

"Talk to him Constable," said Welsh to Fraser and he went back into his office.

Fraser was quite stunned. While he fully understood why Welsh didn't want Ray working this case and of course he was used to the Lieutenant's slightly abrupt manner at times, this was out of character. Usually Welsh had far more empathy for his Detectives. Fraser looked at Francesca who was looking a little nervous.

"He was like this all day yesterday," she said shrugging her shoulders.

Fraser was concerned now. Welsh held this Department together, if there was something troubling him then it affected everyone. He contemplated knocking on the Lieutenant's door and attempting to ask him what was wrong, but he thought better of it and instead went out after Ray.

xXx

"Where are we going Ray?" Fraser reached out a hand to stop his hat sliding right across the dashboard of the GTO as Ray flung his car round another corner at high speed.

"Well I dunno about you buddy," replied Ray, keeping his eyes on the road, "but I could murder a steak right now."

"Ray it's eleven fifteen in the morning," frowned Fraser, looking at his watch.

"Medium rare, huge pile of fries," Ray continued, "what d'ya say buddy? My shout."

Fraser knew exactly what his partner was thinking. "You're off the case Ray," he said, "so attempting to interview Tamara Hoffman's co-workers at this juncture could be seen as disobeying a direct order."

"Hey I'm just hungry Fraser," replied Ray, trying to sound innocent. "I don't, er, remember Welsh tellin' me to starve myself?"

Fraser sighed. The truth was he was just as keen as Ray to investigate the fire. Apart from what had happened to Damien Kowalski, Fraser was having difficulty shaking the image from his mind of Luke Hoffman, distraught as he waited to hear whether his wife was alive or dead. Knowing now that the fire was arson, Fraser was going to find it as difficult as Ray to let this one go. Also, he couldn't help thinking that if Lieutenant Welsh had been acting normally he wouldn't have pulled Ray from this investigation anyway. Although his parents' motorhome had been damaged in the fire, the real crime was clearly committed against the Hoffmans, so Ray wasn't really personally involved, there was no conflict of interest that could jeopardise the investigation. Fraser decided that perhaps he was a little hungry after all.

They pulled up outside the restaurant and headed for the door. The hanging baskets that Ray had mentioned earlier were in their usual place and the outside of the building had been decorated for Christmas. Fraser noticed a small pane of glass in one of the windows was broken and had been boarded up. Dief was at Fraser's heels, but as soon as they got to the door he turned and stopped his wolf. "I'm sorry, you know the health regulations, you'll have to wait here." Dief whined and tried to push past them, but Fraser put his boot in the way. "Stay," he commanded. Then he sighed at Dief's sad face. "I'll bring you something out." Dief was reasonably satisfied with this and settled himself on the ground while Ray and Fraser went inside.

"Fraser," Ray whispered, "we're just here to eat remember, so, er, don't mention we're cops." He looked his buddy up and down as soon as he'd finished that sentence and realised how difficult it was going to be to keep that particular fact quiet. Fraser was wearing his red uniform, brass buttons, pumpkin pants, the whole thing...Ray shook his head, they were just going to have to play it cool. He didn't need word getting back to Welsh that he'd been here asking questions already and Huey and Dewey would no doubt be showing up here and doing exactly the same later today.

Fraser nodded seriously. A waiter showed them to a table and took their drinks order. There was a group of five young women sitting by the window drinking coffee and an older couple studying menu, but otherwise the restaurant was empty. It was still very early for lunch though. The waiter brought their drinks and placed them on the table, then he got out his notebook and was about to ask them what they'd like to eat when Ray spoke. "Er, does Tammy Hoffman work here?" he asked casually.

"Yes," replied the waiter, slightly suspiciously, "do you know her?"

"Yeah," nodded Ray, "she lives in my parents' neighbourhood."

"Oh," the waiter said quietly and looked back towards another waiter who was cleaning a table, catching his eye briefly.

Ray glanced at Fraser, clearly this guy was acting weirdly. Ray decided to take a chance. "I heard she was in a, er, an accident or somethin' yesterday?" he said, "I was wonderin' if ya knew anythin' about it?"

"Oh no," the waiter appeared genuinely concerned. "An accident? Are you sure it was an accident? We were wondering where she was, she hasn't shown up for work today. Is she badly hurt?"

"We are unsure of her condition at this juncture," replied Fraser. "If you don't mind me asking, why would you question whether the incident in question was accidental?"

"Um," the waiter hesitated, "look...you're friends of hers, right?"

"Yes," replied Ray. Fraser winced at the blatant lie. "She lives next door to my parents' place," said Ray, trying to placate his buddy with something more closely resembling the truth.

"Well, this guy keeps coming in here, just hanging around and staring at her. He only ever orders grapefruit juice and garlic bread. He's really creepy," explained the waiter.

"Yeah, she, er, she mentioned that," lied Ray. Fraser cleared his throat twice.

"We called the cops once, he was really freaking her out, but he'd gone before they got here," continued the waiter. "She told me he followed her home the other day too. I said she should call the cops again, but I don't know if she did. I should have made her call, if he's hurt her..." he stopped that train of thought right there and looked sadly out of the window.

"It would have been preferable if the Police had been alerted," agreed Fraser.

"If you see her, tell her that her job here is safe until she recovers," smiled the waiter, "she's really popular with the customers. Too popular with some I guess. Anyway, what can I get you?"

xXx

That afternoon Fraser and Ray headed back to the hospital to see Ray's father. Fraser was inclined not to leave his partner alone, he knew Ray too well and he knew that if he had the opportunity Ray would be likely to try to get involved in the investigation and if he wasn't careful he could find himself getting suspended. They'd seen Detectives Huey and Dewey arrive at the steakhouse as they were leaving, although thankfully the Duck Boys hadn't noticed them, Fraser was certain of that, but at least they were fairly sure the lead about the strange man who had been following Tammy Hoffman about would be looked into. Huey and Dewey might occasionally act like morons, but they were actually good detectives. Lieutenant Welsh would have got rid of them a long time ago otherwise.

"Hi Dad," Ray hesitated before hugging his father. "How are ya feelin'?"

Damien Kowalski was looking pale and tired, he'd suffered through round after round of tests that morning and now, as much as he was pleased that his son was here, he was ready to sleep. "I'm doing fine son," he replied, forcing a smile.

"Ya don't look fine," replied Ray. "If ya wanna rest, we can, er, come back later."

Damien smiled warmly now. There was a time when Ray would never have been able to see through him, to read his thoughts like that. They'd been like strangers for so long that they'd forgotten how to understand each other, but now after just a few short months, their relationship was getting stronger every day. Damien hoped that soon they could be as close as they had been when Ray was a boy. "No Raymond, I want you to stay," he said warmly.

"They haven't left him alone all morning," Barbara Kowalski took her husband's hand in hers, "how many needles have they stuck in you Damien?" Ray's Dad shrugged, he'd lost count hours ago. "I'm surprised you've got any blood left in you," she continued, "and then there were the scans...the doctor tried to explain it all to me, but I'm afraid I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying."

"Barbara, these people know what they're doing," Damien tried to reassure his wife, "we don't need to understand it all, we just have to let them do their jobs." He turned to his son now. "They think I have epilepsy, but there are different types apparently."

"Oh," Ray said quietly. He didn't really know anything about that, it sounded serious though.

"Don't worry about me son," Damien said as cheerfully as possible. "The doc said as long as I take these new pills they're going to give me I'll be as right as rain."

Fraser knew it wasn't going to be quite as simple as that, but for now he let Ray believe it.

"You have a terrible memory Damien," laughed Barbara, "you'll never remember to take them every day."

"But I'll always have you here to remind me," smiled Damien, reaching out and taking her hand in his. He was scared, but as long as she was here then he knew he'd be alright.

Suddenly, Ray coughed and walked out of the room. Barbara and Damien were too busy smiling lovingly at each other to really notice, but Fraser noticed and he quietly made his excuses and followed his partner. He found Ray leaning with one shoulder against the wall with one hand over his eyes. "Ray," said Fraser gently.

Ray sniffed, wiped the tears from his face with his hand and turned to face his buddy. "Jeez, I've gotta stop doin' this," he said with half a smile.

"It's quite alright," Fraser assured him.

Ray sighed. "He looks real old in there," he said quietly.

"Ray, your father has had a health scare and today hasn't been easy for him," Fraser said, "it's not unexpected that he would be exhausted at this juncture."

Ray nodded. "I guess you're right, but y'know Fraser, I think it's just kinda hit me how many years it's been..." his voice cracked, "when they, er, when they left for Arizona they weren't old...where did the time go? Why didn't I try harder, or somethin', I can't ever get those years back..."

Fraser studied his friend for a moment, he really felt his pain. Fraser had never had the chance to rebuild a relationship with his own father and then it was too late...well, almost too late. If he wasn't careful, sometimes the remorse he felt would overwhelm him. "One thing I've learnt Ray, is that regrets about the past are...unhealthy," he said solemnly. "You can't change what's already happened, all you can do is live for the present and look to the future."

Ray nodded, he knew his buddy was right. "So this epilepsy, it's...I mean it's not..." he couldn't get his words out again and he hung his head in resignation.

"The condition can be controlled quite successfully with medication," Fraser explained, trying to allay some of his fears, "although it may take some trial and error to discover the most suitable combination for you father." He waited for Ray to take in that information. "Perhaps I should take Dief for a walk while you spend some time with your parents?" he suggested.

"OK," Ray stood up straight now and took a deep breath. He knew Fraser was right, he had to do this by himself. He and his Dad had been getting on great recently and now his Dad was facing this new challenge, Ray could finally be the supportive and loving son he'd always wanted to be. "Thanks buddy," he said, slapping Fraser affectionately on the back.

The two of them headed back towards Damien's room, but before they got there a nurse walked round the corner. "Melissa?" Fraser immediately recognised her.

The nurse looked up at the sound of his voice and was surprised to see them. "Oh, hi," she said. "Actually I saw the name Kowalski on our files, I was hoping it was a coincidence."

"It's my Dad," said Ray, "but he's OK. I didn't know you were a nurse."

"You didn't ask," replied Melissa with a smile.

Ray looked a little sheepish. "Er, yeah, sorry about last night."

Melissa laughed. "It's fine, I should have realised what your parents were trying to do. Your Dad talks about you all the time you know."

"He does?" Ray was kind of shocked. "I guess ya heard about the fire?"

"Yes," she replied, then her face fell. "Oh my god, your Dad wasn't hurt in the fire was he?"

"No," said Ray, "not exactly, but the motorhome looks like a, er, barbecue or somethin'."

"We have a patient in the burns unit now," said Melissa, then she spoke more quietly, "I probably shouldn't be discussing her with you."

"Tamara Hoffman," said Fraser, "she and her husband occupied the trailer adjacent to the Kowalski's. I understand that she is very seriously injured."

Melissa nodded. "I'd better go," she said. "I'm working down there this afternoon actually, but tomorrow I have a shift up here so I'll probably see your Dad then."

Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Constable Turnbull came running along the corridor. "Ah Constable Fraser, there you are," he said, a little out of breath, relief evident in his voice.

"Good heavens Turnbull," exclaimed Fraser, "whatever's the matter?"

"Inspector Thatcher requires your presence immediately," explained Turnbull, panting as he spoke, "I tried telephoning Detective Vecchio's cellular telephone, but it appears to be switched off, so I called Miss Vecchio who advised that you would most likely be here."

"So, er, ya ran all the way here from the Consulate?" asked Ray in disbelief.

"Yes I did," nodded Turnbull. Then he noticed Melissa who had been about to leave, but for some reason couldn't tear herself away from the scene. "I'm so terribly sorry Miss," said Turnbull, humbly as he quickly removed his hat. "I apologise if I was interrupting any important nursing business."

Mel couldn't help but giggle. This other Mountie was even more old-fashioned than Fraser, but she found that kind of cute.

"This is Constable Turnbull," Fraser formally introduced him.

"Melissa McIntyre...Mel," she replied, holding out her hand for him to shake, which he immediately did. Turnbull found himself blushing, holding onto her delicate fingers for a moment longer than was necessary.

"Constable, Nurse McIntyre needs to return to her duties," Fraser prompted, "and I believe you mentioned Inspector Thatcher needed to see me?"

"Oh my goodness," Turnbull became flustered, "yes, yes, she said I had to locate you urgently, it's regarding the arrangements for Christmas."

"Ah," said Fraser, "If you'll excuse me, I must return to the Consulate at once." The two Mounties left, Turnbull just briefly glancing back over his shoulder.

Ray grinned at Mel and she blushed. It was obvious to both of them that Turnbull had a bit of a crush on her. She thought he was sweet, she wasn't used to guys treating her so graciously, usually they never even looked at her, let alone said anything nice to her. She was too embarrassed to say anything about it to Ray now so she headed back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Ya gonna eat the last slice?" Ray pushed the pizza box towards Fraser and patted his stomach. He'd lost count of how many slices he'd eaten so far, so he figured this one must be Fraser's.

"I'm glad to see that your appetite has returned," replied Fraser. "You may eat that if you wish, I have some pemmican if I feel hungry later."

"Thanks buddy," grinned Ray, grabbing the slice of pizza and folding it in half longways before taking a huge bite.

"Is your mother not cooking for you tonight?" asked Fraser.

Ray nodded and made an incomprehensible noise. Fraser waited patiently until he had finished chewing. "Yeah, er, sorry," Ray said eventually. "She's cleanin' my whole apartment right now, I mean, who cleans at this time of night? I just had to get outta there. She, er, put somethin' in the oven before I left."

"I imagine your mother is trying to keep busy to distract her from her concerns over your father's health," suggested Fraser.

"Yeah, I know," sighed Ray, "but she's drivin' me crazy Fraser."

"Understood," nodded Fraser.

Dief suddenly got to his feet and barked and a second later there was a knock at the door. Fraser patted his wolf on the head and went to answer the door while Ray finished the pizza. The Consulate was closed, but in Fraser's mind it was never closed and he was always on duty, ready to help anyone who may need his assistance. Inspector Thatcher had sent Turnbull out to buy Christmas decorations and he'd already been gone for over two hours. The Inspector was organising a dinner for various high ranking RCMP officers and now the date was fast approaching she was starting to panic about the arrangements and had gone home earlier with a headache. Fraser opened the door, half expecting to see Turnbull with armfuls of shiny festive things, but it wasn't Turnbull. "Melissa?" Fraser was very surprised to see her there.

"Hi," she said quietly, "I'm sorry, but I knew you worked here, I...um, can I come in?"

Fraser shook himself out of his surprise. "Yes, yes of course, I'm so sorry, where are my manners," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "Let me take your coat."

Melissa took off her coat and scarf and Fraser hung it on the coatstand. He was concerned that she appeared very nervous and her complexion was pale compared to the last time he saw her only a few hours earlier. She noticed his frown and tried to smile. "I probably shouldn't have come here," she began, "but..." her voice was shaking and she had to stop.

"Come through and sit down," said Fraser gently, "Ray is here, can I get you anything? Perhaps some tea would beneficial at this juncture?"

Melissa followed him into the other room and Ray was just as surprised to see her as Fraser had been. "I don't really drink tea," she replied, "thanks, but I'm not really thirsty."

Ray noticed her manner now and glanced at Fraser. "So, er, what brings ya to Canada?" he asked with a grin.

Melissa sighed. "It's probably nothing," she said, looking at the floor, "the Security team at the hospital didn't seem that worried..." she paused for breath.

"Hospital?" Ray was worried now, "is it my Dad? Has somethin' happened?"

"No, no it's not your Dad," replied Melissa, shaking her head, "it's Mrs Hoffman, the lady that was injured in the fire. Well, not her exactly, it's just that I went into her room earlier to check on her and there was a guy in there."

"I assume you did not recognise this man?" asked Fraser.

"No," replied Melissa, "there shouldn't have been anyone else in the room, visiting hours were over. This guy was..." her voice trailed off and she shuddered.

It was clear to Ray and Fraser that she was really shaken. "Hey, what did he do?" asked Ray.

"Well, nothing really," said Melissa, "he just stood there, staring at her. I asked him who he was and he said he was her husband, but her husband has been sitting with her most of the day, poor guy. When I challenged him he said he meant to say he was her brother."

"That's stupid," noted Ray, "who gets confused over somethin' like that?"

"If he is her brother he may be very distressed by her current condition," Fraser pointed out.

"I guess," agreed Melissa, "but, I've seen a lot of distressed relatives and...oh, I don't know, maybe I'm being silly, but he just gave me the creeps. His eyes, they were weird, the way he was staring at her. I have no idea how long he'd been in there? Then he was staring at me too, looking me up and down. He totally freaked me out."

"I agree that the circumstances appear slightly concerning," agreed Fraser.

"And ya said ya reported it to Security?" asked Ray and Melissa nodded. "Yeah well if they were the ones who'd, er, let him in without checkin' him out first, I guess they're gonna want to keep it kinda quiet."

"Indeed," nodded Fraser.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't involve you in this," said Melissa uncomfortably, "it's just that I didn't really know what else to do?"

"It's OK," smiled Ray, "look, maybe when I go in to see my Dad tomorrow I'll, er, talk with Security, remind 'em how to do their jobs."

Fraser regarded Melissa for a moment. He could tell she was really shaken up. "Would you like some tea now?" he asked.

"Tea's good," added Ray, much to Fraser's surprise. "Kinda helps ya to stop shakin'." He nodded towards Melissa's hands. She was rubbing them together nervously.

"Oh, OK, thanks," she said quietly, holding out her hands in front of her. She hadn't realised how much she was trembling and it shocked her.

As Fraser went to make tea, Ray tried to get Melissa to tell her everything she could remember about the man. "We'll get a description out and, er, tell the hospital Security not to let him in again without ID."

Melissa nodded and smiled. "He really stunk of garlic," she said, just as Fraser returned with a tray of teacups.

"Garlic?" Fraser picked up on that immediately and glanced at Ray who had also got the connection. Tammy Hoffman's colleague had mentioned that the guy who'd been following her around always ordered garlic bread when he went into the steakhouse. It could be a coincidence, lots of people ate garlic. Ray himself had a habit of overindulging in garlic chicken when he went to a particular restaurant. Dief had been quite disgusted about it last time actually and made his feelings quite clear, even to Ray.

Melissa sipped at her tea and it seemed to calm her. "Thanks," she said, "I could do with some of that after a difficult shift."

"I guess it's a, er, tough job sometimes," said Ray, draining his own cup of tea.

Melissa shrugged. "Not as tough as yours," she smiled. "There are really good days and then there are really bad days and the bad days are...well, they're bad. I have to hold it together at work of course, but sometimes I get home and just, well...let's just say it's not pretty."

Ray knew exactly what she was talking about. "Yeah, been there, done that," he admitted. He'd had far too many bad days on the job, days when he'd ended up lying on the couch all night, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep, but not able to move either. Sometimes the things they had to see and deal with were overwhelming and he felt like he couldn't cope. Then he'd cry it out, pull himself together and start the next day like nothing had happened. That's the only way he knew how to deal with it. He knew Fraser tended to let things play on his mind for longer though, he wished his buddy wouldn't bottle stuff up all the time.

Just then they heard the front door open followed by clattering and crashing. Dief started barking loudly and Fraser and Ray ran out into the hall to see what was going on, with Melissa not far behind.

"Turnbull!" Fraser exclaimed. His younger colleague was laying spread-eagled on the floor, surrounded by split bags and crushed boxes with shiny tinsel and glittery baubles all over the place.

"You OK?" asked Ray, trying not to laugh as he and Fraser helped the poor man to his feet.

Turnbull brushed himself down, trying desperately to get some of the glitter off his uniform. Fraser picked up his hat and passed it to him and he nodded appreciatively. He took a deep breath and looked seriously at Fraser. "Inspector Thatcher..." he began, but Fraser interrupted him.

"Don't worry," Fraser surveyed the mess, "I believe that most of these items are salvageable. I will assist you this evening in decorating the Consulate to the Inspector's precise standards."

"Oh thank you, thank you Sir," replied a very grateful Turnbull, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Then he saw Melissa. "Oh, oh my...Nurse...N...N...Nurse McIntyre..." he stammered, his face flushing with embarrassment, "what are you...why...I didn't see...welcome to Canada."

Melissa blushed too and tried to avoid catching Ray's eye, she could tell he had a huge grin on his face. "Constable Turnbull," she said, smiling at his formal manner. "I...I was just leaving, I have an early shift tomorrow." She hurriedly stepped over the scene of the accident, but then she saw the disappointment on Turnbull's face and felt a little guilty. "Um, perhaps I'll see you again tomorrow? Or...or another day?" she suggested and his face lit up again.

Fraser followed her to the door to show her out. "Please telephone if the man reappears at the hospital, try not to worry," he said with a supportive smile, "and if you feel at all threatened by him you must call the Police immediately."

"Thank you, I will," she said and headed out to her car.

Fraser closed the heavy oak door and went to help Turnbull and Ray clear up. When they'd finished it was Ray's turn to leave. "I have to go see what my Mum's done with my place," he sighed.

"Make sure you go straight home," said Fraser seriously.

Ray looked at him and laughed. "Since when did you turn into my Mum?" he asked. "I promise I won't talk to strangers."

Fraser shook his head. "That's not what I meant," he said, "I meant, don't be tempted to go anywhere else...like the station."

Ray sighed and hung his head. "Don't worry buddy, I wasn't going to. The mood Welsh was in yesterday, I'm gonna stay well outta the way."

"He did appear to be acting rather peculiarly," agreed Fraser.

"Yeah, maybe it's just Christmas?" suggested Ray. "Y'know, it's kinda stressful for some folks. Maybe he's, er, got his brother comin' for dinner? They don't exactly get along."

"You're probably correct," replied Fraser, although he wasn't completely convinced.

"We gotta let Huey and Dewey know what Mel just told us though," Ray pointed out.

"Indeed," nodded Fraser. "I will telephone them first thing in the morning. If the visitor Melissa found in Mrs Hoffman's room is the same person who has been following her around recently, then he will need a solid alibi to eliminate him from the arson investigation."

"Stalkin' buddy," said Ray, "followin' someone around and bein' generally creepy, it's called stalkin'."

"I am aware of that Ray," Fraser replied, "however we must be careful at this juncture not to use emotive words unnecessarily. He could simply be an innocent admirer."

"Yeah, if ya say so," replied Ray sarcastically. His instincts told him that this creep was anything but innocent and he knew Fraser was having the same thoughts. "See ya tomorrow."

xXx

Fraser strode into the Two Seven with Dief at his heels. "Morning Fraser," Francesca smiled at him. She was wearing a headband made of tinsel and earrings made of huge baubles. Fraser was sure that Lieutenant Welsh would object to her accessorising her uniform in this way. She was often very liberal when it came to adhering to the regulation uniform guidelines for a Civilian Aid and Welsh had all but given up trying to argue with her about it, but Fraser was certain that nothing even remotely resembling tinsel was on the approved list.

"Francesca," he acknowledged her, but kept walking past her desk and over to Tom Dewey's desk where the Detective and his partner Jack Huey were pouring over Dewey's computer screen. "Good morning gentlemen," he said and they both looked over their shoulders briefly and grunted an acknowledgement. "I have some information that may be of interest to you with regards to your investigation into the arson at the trailer park," explained the Mountie.

That got their attention, they hadn't really got any leads yet and they could do with a break. "What have you got Fraser?" asked Huey.

"It is my understanding that you visited the victim's place of employment yesterday and spoke with her colleagues?" said Fraser.

"Yeah," replied Dewey suspiciously. He wasn't sure how exactly Fraser would know that, but then he wasn't sure how Fraser did a lot of things so he decided to let it go.

"And I assume you are now aware that Mrs Hoffman has an admirer of a rather dubious nature," continued Fraser.

"You mean her stalker," Huey replied, "one of the other waiters...what was his name Tom?"

"Barry Travail," replied Dewey, "he said this guy's been hanging around her and followed her home at least once that he knows of."

"Why are you asking about him?" asked Huey, "do you know something? The description Travail gave us is really vague."

"I don't believe he has any particularly distinctive features," agreed Fraser, "not that a member of the public would notice anyway."

"Yeah well until we track him down and rule him out, he's a suspect," stated Dewey. "So you were going to tell us something? About this guy I assume? A name and address would be good."

"Ah, well I am unable to provide you with that information at this juncture," began Fraser, "however, it is entirely possible that he has visited Mrs Hoffman in her hospital room. A nurse observed an unidentified gentleman in there yesterday behaving suspiciously."

"Why didn't this nurse call the cops?" asked Huey.

"She was unaware of the significance," explained Fraser. "She is a personal friend of Mr and Mrs Kowalski and she was somewhat distressed as she found the experience disturbing, so she required some reassurance. At this juncture we have not suggested the possibility of a connection between the visitor and the arsonist."

"OK, well we might want her in here to make a statement," said Dewey and Fraser nodded.

Just then Lieutenant Welsh walked into the bullpen carrying a huge pile of files that needed signing off. He could barely see where he was going as he headed towards his office, fumbling with a bunch of keys. Fraser quickly crossed the room. "Sir, allow me," he said, taking the files from the Lieutenant. It was unusual for him to lock his office door, Fraser thought, but perhaps he had sensitive documents on his desk, that would explain it.

"Thank you Constable," replied Welsh, gruffly. He unlocked the door and held it open for Fraser, but just as the Mountie had stepped over the threshold, Welsh suddenly leapt in front of him, abruptly shouting, "No!" It was already too late though. Fraser, a little stunned by the Lieutenant's outburst, almost dropped the files, however he was quick enough to grab the ones that were threatening to slide off and prevent a disaster by placing the pile down on Welsh's desk.

Then Fraser noticed something and suddenly things started to make sense. Spread out on the couch in the office was a sleeping bag and pillows and on the floor stood a plastic sack containing clothes. He looked up at Lieutenant Welsh who had hung his head. "Sir?" began Fraser.

"Yes Constable," sighed Welsh, closing the door, "I'm sleeping in my office, but it's only temporary. I'd appreciate your discretion over this."

"Of course Sir," replied Fraser. "If you don't mind me asking..."

"Yes I do mind," snapped Welsh in response.

"Understood," replied Fraser and headed for the door.

"It's my wife," said Welsh. Fraser was confused, he thought the Lieutenant didn't want to talk about it. "She thinks we need a trial separation. What the hell is that anyway? She's been watching too much Oprah if you ask me. Thirty seven years Fraser, thirty seven years we've been married and now she's thrown me out."

"Sir, your wife did say it was only on a trial basis," Fraser pointed out.

"So I just have to wait until she realises she wants me back?" snapped Welsh.

"Well, to be honest Sir," began Fraser, feeling a little awkward, "I'm not really sure..."

"It's Christmas for heaven's sake," Welsh interrupted him, "Wilson is meant to be coming to visit."

"Your brother, Sir?"

"Yes, Fraser," snapped Welsh, how many other Wilsons did the Mountie think he would be inviting to stay? "I don't want him knowing about this." The Lieutenant and his brother still had a rather delicate relationship. Welsh sighed. "I have no idea what I did wrong?"

"Have you tried talking to your wife about this?" Fraser asked gingerly.

"Talking to her?" sneered Welsh. "Why on earth would I want to do that? She threw me out of my own house! I have nothing more to say to her until she comes to her senses."

Fraser wasn't sure what to say next. He really couldn't imagine the Lieutenant and his wife sitting down and discussing their relationship. "As you may be aware, I have little experience when it comes to...to, um...relationships, however, my advice would be..."

"When I need your advice Constable, I'll ask for it," Welsh interrupted him.

"Yes Sir, I'm sorry Sir."

"Why are you even here today?" asked Welsh. His marriage problems had been distracting him, but now the penny had dropped. He told Vecchio to stay away from the Two Seven, so what was the Mountie doing here.

"I'm liaising, Sir," replied Fraser.

"Liaising? With who about what?" asked Welsh, "Vecchio is off the arson case."

"With whom..." Fraser couldn't help correcting the Lieutenant, "with Detectives Huey and Dewey. I acquired some information that may be pertinent to the investigation."

"I see," Welsh replied suspiciously. He decided not to ask exactly how Fraser just happened to come by this information, whatever it was. Well if it helped his Detectives catch the arsonist he figured he could overlook the details.

Fraser started backing away towards the door. "I should probably be going now Sir," he said.

Welsh nodded in agreement. "Constable, there's no need to mention any of this to anyone," he said.

"Of course Sir," replied Fraser, "you have my word."

xXx

"All I'm sayin' is if ya see him again, ya need to keep him here and call it in, OK?" Ray picked up his badge from the hospital security desk where he'd slapped it down moments earlier.

"Detective, your badge is real shiny an' all, but we don't need no cops tellin' us how to do our jobs," replied the rather overweight security guard, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Look, this creep is a suspect in an attempted murder, so that makes it my job," replied Ray, barely keeping his temper under control. He remembered how shaken up Mel had been last night and he wanted to kick this stupid guy in the head for not taking the situation seriously. He took a deep breath. "If he comes in again..."

"I heard ya'll the first time," snapped the security guard.

Ray let out a growl of frustration and walked away before he did something he would regret. He hoped that this guy just had an attitude problem and underneath it all he had actually been paying attention.

Ray headed up to his father's hospital room. He'd picked up a couple of magazines for his Dad to read, both car related, one was a publication that they used to buy when he was a boy. He remembered the excitement on the first Thursday of every month when his Dad would bring the magazine home and they'd read it together, pouring over the articles on cars they knew they would never be able to afford, but still liked to dream about owning. There was always a feature on restoring a particular engine part or piece of bodywork and Ray and his Dad would excitedly discuss how they could use some of the techniques on whatever old wreck they were working on at the time. Ray had already flicked through the pages of the latest issue and the pictures were sharper, the pages were glossier, but essentially it was the same as he remembered it.

Ray turned the corner and then stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead he could see two doctors and a nurse running into his Dad's room, the nurse was pushing a trolley of equipment. "Dad," he half whispered, finally summoning the strength to run into the room, terrified at what he might find. Mel was already in there and she and her colleagues were crowded round Damien's bed, working on him and calling his name. Ray threw the magazines on the floor and went straight to Barbara who was standing calmly in the corner of the room. He felt like he couldn't breathe, he didn't know what was happening. "Mum?" his voice was shaky as he put his arm around her.

"I think he's having another one of those fits," Barbara explained. Ray couldn't believe how matter of fact she was being about it all. It looked like he was coming out of it now, but Ray's heart was pounding in his chest, he couldn't bear seeing his Dad like this, he felt like he was going to puke. "Mel was already here with us, she was very good," continued Barbara, "she called for help straight away."

Mel looked up as Damien's convulsions finally subsided and smiled supportively at Ray and Barbara. She left the man in the more than capable hands of her colleagues and walked over to them. "He'll be fine now," she said, "we'll change his meds and keep an eye on him. Hopefully it won't happen again."

Ray let out the breath he was holding as one of the doctors beckoned to Barbara to come over. She held Damien's hand tightly and Ray could hear his father talking in a quiet voice. He still felt like he was going to puke. Mel looked at him with concern. "Are you OK?" she asked quietly.

"I, er...I gotta get outta here..." replied Ray and with a final quick glance at his parents he ran out of the room.

Mel followed him out into the corridor and found him standing with his head bowed, both hands on his hips. He was breathing deeply, desperately fighting back tears.

"Breathe slowly," Mel advised, "or you'll hyperventilate." Ray tried his best to comply. "I know it's distressing for you," she continued, "I'm sorry."

Ray mustered a smile. "Hey, it's, er, not your fault is it," he lifted his head. He felt like an idiot again. His Mum wasn't freaking out like this, she was in there holding his Dad's hand and reassuring him that everything was going to be OK. Meanwhile Ray was running away, blubbering and swallowing down bile and hyper...hyper...whatever Mel said. Ray's head was just spinning now. This was stupid. Where was Fraser when he needed him anyway? His buddy was the only one who could hold him together these days it seemed. _Oh yeah, he said he was going to call into the Two Seven...doing my job because Welsh won't let me do it myself..._

"Why don't you go back in there," suggested Mel, "go and talk to your Dad." She knew that it would help Ray to see his Dad right now. She'd been talking to Barbara this morning and she knew a little now about Ray and Damien's relationship.

Ray didn't even hear what she was saying. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out, but instead he stepped forward, took the startled nurse's face in his hands and kissed her, pressing his lips against hers with more passion than he thought he had the strength for.

"Ray!" Mel pulled herself free of his hands and staggered back against the wall.

Ray stumbled towards her, he had no idea why he'd done that, no idea at all. "No...jeez, I'm...I...I..." he reached out his hand again, it was a gesture of apology, he couldn't think straight.

Mel slapped him...hard, across the right cheek. She shocked herself with the force of it, leaving a hand shaped red mark on the side of his face. Then she burst into tears and ran off.

"Thanks for, um, helpin' my Dad," Ray called after her. What a stupid dumb thing to say Kowalski? He should have been apologising, grovelling even, not talking about his Dad? He considered running after her, trying to explain, trying to tell her how sorry he was, that he'd made a big mistake...but he couldn't move. He ran his fingers through his hair and then turned and kicked the wall in frustration. He was breathing heavily again now, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep some sort of control on his emotions. What was wrong with him? He needed to go, hospitals freaked him out anyway, it was the smell, that weird sterile smell that reminded him of Mort. Then there was the thought that at any given moment someone had probably just died in this very building. He couldn't get his head around that at all. Somewhere in this hospital someone had probably just been given the most devastating news imaginable. He wondered what were they doing...were they kissing girls they hardly knew? Girls that they'd never even had any romantic thoughts about?

Ray took two slow deep breaths, ran back to his Dad's room to make his excuses and then raced out of the hospital as fast as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mel had no idea how she got through the rest of her shift, she just went into autopilot, administering nursing care to her usual high standards of course, but she'd closed off her emotions.

She wasn't totally inexperienced with the opposite sex, although she'd never had a long lasting relationship, unless you counted the three months she'd spent visiting sites of various civil war battlefields with a guy from IT called Larry that no one else spoke to if they could help it. She liked history, but standing in muddy fields hadn't excited her in any way and the only reason she hadn't put a halt to it sooner was the fact that he was a man who was showing an interest in her and she was beginning to think that no man would ever do that. They'd often gone back to his apartment for what was basically little more than a kiss and a cuddle, which Larry clearly enjoyed far more than she did. That was over two years ago, maybe Ray's kiss had brought back weird memories of those times, the times when she'd let Larry go further than she'd really wanted because she'd thought it could be her only chance at happiness. Eventually, Mel had come to her senses before she lost all of her dignity and told Larry that if he wasn't going to pay more attention to her and less to muddy puddles it was over, so then it was over.

Ray was a nice guy, not her type at all, but nice and she knew that he hadn't really meant to take advantage of her at all, he wasn't Larry. His head was all over the place because of what was happening with his Dad, she knew that and she shouldn't have been a little more understanding, she thought to herself. She'd been on some really good psychology courses and she knew what the stress of having a sick loved one could do to a person, but she hadn't counted on just how much her encounter with that weirdo in Tammy Hoffman's room at the hospital had affected her. Ray shouldn't have kissed her like that, but she really shouldn't have slapped him. She'd never hit anyone in her life before, but she'd just reacted, it was a self preservation mechanism she realised, but she shouldn't have felt so threatened by Ray. Ray's eyes had been full of sadness and pain, they weren't creepy eyes, Ray's eyes hadn't sent cold shivers down her spine like that other guy's had.

Now she was driving round in circles, she hadn't wanted to go straight home to her cold, lonely apartment, she wanted company, but she didn't really have any friends. Sure most of the people she worked with were nice and they'd chat and laugh together, maybe when they were on their breaks they'd talk with Mel about a TV show they'd all seen last night, but none of them were real friends. Right now she was feeling really peculiar and she needed to talk to someone. Last night when she'd been so shaken by what had happened, she'd gone straight to the Canadian Consulate to talk to Fraser. She'd only just met him, but he seemed like a decent guy, perhaps because he was a Mountie. Mel remembered stories her grandfather had told her about working up in Canada back in the Fifties. He'd got himself mixed up in some trouble, not his fault at all, but after agreeing to testify against the guys he'd been working with, Mel's grandfather had feared for his life and two local RCMP officers had protected him, at huge risk to their own lives. If it wasn't for those two Mounties, Mel would probably never even have existed and those stories had stayed with her all this time.

So here she was again, pulling up outside the Consulate. The sun was low in the winter sky and the glare caused Mel to squint as she got out of her car and walked up the steps. She hoped that Fraser was there, maybe she should have called first, but then she'd only known for certain that she was coming here a few minutes ago. Part of her also hoped that Ray was there, she knew he'd probably feeling as bad as her about what had happened, probably worse in fact and she wanted to sort it out, but on the other hand she wasn't sure what she could say to him, she wasn't sure if she could reassure him and explain herself without letting him see a part of her that she'd vowed never to let anyone see. Mel didn't want anyone to know how lonely and vulnerable she felt at times, least of all a guy she barely knew, even if she had chatted with his parents every week for the past few months by the dairy counter in the supermarket.

Mel walked up the steps and knocked on the huge wooden door. She waited for a few moments, half-considering leaving before anyone answered, but before she had a chance the door opened and her heart sank as she was greeted by the smiling face of Constable Turnbull, dressed in full dress uniform, just as he had been yesterday. "Oh, hi," she said, immediately regretting how disappointed she'd sounded. Turnbull had seemed like a nice guy too, a little dorky perhaps, but in a way he reminded her of herself. He was obviously uneasy in social situations, particularly around the opposite sex and he'd looked absolutely terrified when he'd thought that his superior officer was going to be mad with him for damaging the Christmas decorations he'd just bought. She thought that was sweet, how many guys these days cared about things like that? "Um, is Fraser here?" she asked, forcing a smile and deliberately trying to sound as casual as possible, like she didn't really care if he was or not.

"I'm terribly sorry Nurse McIntyre," replied Turnbull, "but he's not here at the present time." He paused. "Um, however...if you'd like to, er, step inside you're more than welcome to wait here for him, I am expecting him to return within the hour." Turnbull had stumbled through all of that without taking a breath and he could feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he waited for her answer. He was actually a little scared of the prospect of her saying yes, what was she meant to do for the next sixty minutes until Fraser got back. He was really bad at small talk and he could tell that she was a little upset about something. She'd come to see Constable Fraser, not him, he realised that much. It seemed like forever before Mel answered and to Turnbull's surprise her answer was yes.

As Mel stepped into the building for the second time in two days she couldn't help but be amused for the second time as Turnbull cheerfully welcomed her to Canada again. She was starting to like Canada, it felt safe. She gratefully accepted Turnbull's offer of tea and made herself comfortable in the reception room.

Turnbull quickly returned with two cups of tea and two slices of cake. "I...I hope you like cherry cake," he said, "Inspector Thatcher has requested that I bake some for the Assistant Commissioner when he visits, I've been practising." He smiled and then his face dropped. "Oh, not that I'm passing off my failed attempts on you," he said, trying to clarify. "I've successfully baked this particular cake on several occasions in the past. It's just that I want to be absolutely sure that the Assistant Commissioner's visit will be successful."

Mel smiled, the cake was really delicious, although she wasn't very hungry. "Inspector Thatcher, is he the one who wanted you to put up all these lovely Christmas decorations?" she asked looking around the room. She hadn't really paid much attention to the decorations when she'd first arrived, but now she'd started to relax a little and she was suddenly aware that the entrance hall and this room looked startling different to the way it had yesterday. Turnbull and Fraser must have worked really hard, it looked like ones of those unrealistic scenes from the kind of lifestyle magazine that people always read in the waiting room at the hospital.

"She," Turnbull corrected her, "Inspector Margaret Thatcher. Constable Fraser and myself report directly to her."

"I see," replied Mel, "and where does Ray fit into all of this exactly? Barbara mentioned something about a liaising agreement between yourselves and the Chicago PD."

"Yes that's correct," replied Turnbull, "Detective Vecchio and Constable Fraser regularly liaise regarding cases that concern both of our nations. The arrangement has proven to be mutually beneficial on many occasions."

"Who's Detective Vecchio?" asked Mel, she was confused now, she thought they were talking about Ray.

Turnbull went pale. "Oh dear," he muttered to himself. Nurse McIntyre had mentioned before that she knew Mr and Mrs Kowalski, he remembered, so of course she only knew the Detective by his real name. Now he was in real trouble, he could have blown the entire undercover operation. His palms began to sweat and his heart was pounding in his chest.

"Are you OK?" asked Mel.

"Um...um, er...oh dear..." Turnbull leap to his feet and starting pacing around the room, mumbling under his breath. He didn't know what to do now? Constable Fraser had spoken to him at great length about the importance of keeping the secret, of maintaining Detective Vecchio's cover, his life could depend on it. What if this young lady was a spy for the organised crime family that the real Detective Vecchio was working with? No, that was ridiculous, he was a Police Officer, a Mountie, he knew people and this young nurse was not involved in anything like that...but what if she knew someone who was? What if she unwittingly passed the information to someone who knew all about the mob and...oh dear...

"Did I say something wrong?" Mel was very worried that she'd somehow upset him.

"No no no..." Turnbull sat himself back down, then immediately stood up again. "It's my fault, my fault entirely. Nurse McIntyre, I'm afraid I may have unwittingly involved you in something that could be..." he trailed off. He was going to say 'dangerous', but he was concerned about frightening her as he could tell that she was already worrying about something.

"Please, call me Mel," she half smiled. She'd almost forgotten about her own troubles now, she was really concerned that she'd done something to upset Turnbull and that was the last thing she wanted to do. "What, what do I call you? Constable Turnbull seems rather formal," she asked, trying to put him at his ease.

"Well, my name is Renfield," replied Turnbull rather nervously. Was she being extra nice now just to get information out of him? Maybe she was a spy after all? No, no that was silly, she was just being genuinely nice to him, he wasn't used to that from many people. "Actually I prefer Turnbull," he said, as he relaxed a little, "I'm very proud to be a Turnbull, I've traced my paternal family line back several generations."

"I see," replied Mel, "I've been trying to research my family tree too, I'm fascinated by genealogy. My paternal great great grandparents were from Scotland, although you probably guessed that from the name. Maybe we could swap information one day, I'd love to see what you've discovered. I have a contact at the central records office, she's been very helpful, I'm sure she could help you out if you've hit any brick walls, I know how frustrating that can be."

Turnbull nodded and smiled. Nobody had ever shown any interest in his genealogy research before. Constable Fraser had once offered to assist him with something in particular, but Turnbull was all too aware that Fraser's own family history was difficult and at times, painful for him to think about, so Turnbull had politely declined the offer.

So now Turnbull was faced with having to explain a few things to Mel that he knew he shouldn't be talking about, but felt that she was no fool and there was a danger that she would decide to try and find out for herself what was going on, asking questions, maybe asking the wrong person, or maybe being overheard by the wrong person and that most certainly could be dangerous. He decided the best course of action was to tell her the truth. Mel was a friend of the Kowalski family, she was going to find out sooner or later. Turnbull took a deep breath and tried to explain the basic situation without giving away any highly classified details. He'd never really understood how Ray Kowalski had been able to continue living his old life in conjunction with his new undercover life too anyway. Although he was meant to be living as Ray Vecchio, he regularly interacted with his ex-wife, old friends and colleagues and other people from his past and now with his parents too. This was certainly not how they carried out undercover missions in the RCMP. He assumed it was just another one of those things they did differently here in Chicago. Turnbull had been on several training courses back in Canada, he'd even volunteered for a few operations, but he'd been overlooked on every occasion. He felt sure that his moment would come one day though.

Mel let out a long breath. "Wow," she said, she couldn't think of anything else to say. "Is the other guy in real danger?"

"I'm really not sure of any of the details," replied Turnbull, bowing his head with shame, "and besides I have already divulged far too much information. I will of course have to admit my deplorable aberration to Constable Fraser at the earliest opportunity and he will be quite within his rights to report me to Inspector Thatcher who will undoubtedly begin disciplinary procedures, which I fully deserve of course."

"Hey, Turnbull," Mel smiled at him, "it's OK, I won't tell anyone." She reached out and her hand hovered over his. This was another one of those gut reactions, she realised. She'd been compelled to reassure him, to comfort him. She respected that he'd trusted her enough to tell her about Ray, even though he was fully aware that he would be disciplined. Well, she thought to herself, these past few days have been weird enough, it can't really get any worse. She lowered her hand over Turnbull's and squeezed gently. The poor man almost jumped out of his skin. Oh dear, that was a mistake, she hung her head. She wasn't trying to come onto him, not really, she just thought that he'd needed some friendly support at that particular moment. Now she assumed that she'd misread the whole situation. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." she began.

To her great relief, Turnbull smiled. "Please, there's no need to apologise," he said, his voice a little shaky now. He paused, just looking at her for a few moments. "Mel," he said, getting to his feet again, "do you enjoy listening to country music?"

"It's my favourite," Mel replied with a slight gasp, none of her peers admitted to liking country music, probably because none of them actually liked it she realised. They'd rather listen to that modern, loud, tuneless trash that most radio stations liked to play twenty four hours a day.

"Well in that case," Turnbull's voice was stronger now, "in honour of the festive season, perhaps you might enjoy listening to the Clint Black Christmas Album with me while we await the return of Constable Fraser."

Mel smiled, all her worries suddenly forgotten. "I'd...I'd like that very much."

xXx

By the time Fraser arrived back at the Consulate, Melissa and Turnbull were wearing Santa hats and dancing around the room. Fraser was pleased to see her looking so cheerful, he'd been concerned about her the day before. Turnbull had obviously found someone who shared his taste in music. Fraser liked Clint Black, he liked a lot of country music, but he wasn't an obsessed fan like Turnbull.

He decided to leave them to it and shut himself in his office, trying to block out the sound of Santa Drives a Pickup. It was, without doubt, one of the greatest Christmas songs ever written, but after the tenth time in a row it was beginning to grate. However, Fraser was grateful that they didn't have Twelve Days of Christmas on repeat any more as Turnbull seemed incapable of getting the lyrics in the correct order.

He wondered why Melissa was even there in the first place, he couldn't imagine she'd called round to sing Country tunes with Turnbull. Eventually she stuck her head round his door to let him know that she was leaving and to apologise for making so much noise. "Is everything alright?" Fraser had asked her.

Melissa had hesitated, briefly considering telling Fraser about what had happened with Ray earlier, which after all was why she was here, but after she'd had such a great time she decided to just try to forget about it. She wished the whole thing had never happened, but it had and nothing was going to change that. She really hoped Ray was OK about it too, they'd both made mistakes and they both had their reasons, but she was willing to move on. She smiled at Fraser and before replying, "Sure, I'm fine."

Fraser wasn't entirely sure that her self assessment was correct and, later that evening, after enjoying dinner at Ray's apartment with Ray and Barbara, he decided to mention his concerns to Ray. That may have been a mistake.

"Turnbull is enough to, er, screw with anyone's head," Ray retorted. Then he threw the rest of the dirty cutlery into the sink with a splash and stormed off to his bedroom, mumbling something about taking a nap.

"I didn't suggest..." Fraser called after him, but it was too late, Ray slammed the door, leaving a rather stunned Fraser to finish the washing up. Barbara pretended not to notice, she'd been worried about her son all afternoon and she'd felt like she had to walk on eggshells around him after he'd disappeared for almost three hours. He hadn't offered any explanation when he'd finally come back later in the afternoon and Barbara had thought it best not to ask. Fortunately Damien had been feeling much better and he and Ray had spent a couple of hours poring over the vintage car magazines Ray had brought in earlier.

After finishing in the kitchen, Fraser made some tea and handed one cup to Barbara. "Thank you Benton," she smiled at him.

"I should be thanking you, again, for the delicious meal," replied Fraser, moving Diefenbaker from the sofa and sitting down.

"You don't have to thank me," replied Barbara, "I love cooking for you and it's good to keep busy at the moment."

"I imagine you're concerned for your husband," said Fraser sympathetically.

"Yes," replied Barbara quietly, "after what happened this morning, the doctors are more confident that the new medication will work for Damien. Dr Marsden tried to explain it all to me, but to be honest I really didn't understand what he was saying, at least I couldn't take it all in."

"It can be very difficult in these circumstances," replied Fraser, "perhaps in a week or two you can review the information you have and if you have any questions I'm sure the medical team will be only too happy to answer them."

"Yes of course," said Barbara, "although I have no idea where we'll be living by Christmas..." her voice trailed off.

Fraser wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Ray wouldn't want to see his parents homeless, but his apartment really wasn't big enough to have them both living with him for too long. He assumed Ray hadn't given it any thought anyway, he was too concerned with more immediate things. "Do you have insurance?" asked Fraser.

"Yes," replied Barbara, "and Damien and I have already discussed what we're going to do with it...we're going to buy another motorhome. I know we're old now and we should probably settle down now, but we love the freedom Benton."

Fraser nodded. "I understand completely," he said, "I, too, am used to a far less restrictive way of living. Back home in the Territories I would rarely sleep in the same location for two nights in a row."

"Don't get me wrong Benton, we've loved being here these past few months, I've loved seeing Stanley again," Barbara smiled again, "I'm so glad that we've had this chance to get to know him again properly, he's such a wonderful son, he truly is."

Fraser smiled at such high praise for his friend, he wished Ray could hear it though. He glanced over his shoulder towards the bedroom where he hoped Ray was sleeping.

"Damien is so proud of him, I wish they could talk properly," sighed Barbara, "but at least they're talking now, there was a while when I thought that would never happen. Maybe one day they can really clear the air, I know Damien wants to, but I guess fathers and sons don't like to talk about things like that, about how they feel I mean."

Fraser nodded. "Indeed," he agreed. His relationship with his own father had been very similar to Ray's in a lot of ways. They'd never really communicated at all for most of Fraser's adult life, at least not until after his father's death.

"But he is very proud of Stanley," Barbara continued, reiterating the point she'd already made, "even though Damien didn't want him to join the Police to start with, he knows now that he does such an important job. Damien's only dealings with the Police before then had not been exactly pleasant."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Fraser, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Oh he's never been in trouble with the law," clarified Barbara, "but in those days...well, let's just say there wasn't the tolerance that there is these days."

Fraser wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but he didn't want to push her into talking about what had clearly been a difficult time in their lives. "I imagine you both must have been very proud when he was awarded his first citation."

Barbara's face fell. "He...he never actually told us about his citations," she said. "I found out about them from Stella, but she told me that he'd expressly asked her not to tell me."

Fraser drew a sharp breath. "Oh dear," he said, "I just...I assumed he would have told you." Of course Stella would have told them though, he realised, she and Barbara still spoke regularly, despite coming from very different backgrounds and now leading very different lives, the two women were good friends.

Barbara looked sad now, she wanted to break down and cry, but not in front of Benton. Why had their relationship with Stanley broken down so much? She knew that it was largely Damien's fault and as much as she loved her husband, she knew his stubbornness had been a huge factor in this rift with their son growing so wide. "I'll just go and see if he's alright," said Barbara.

Fraser considered stopping her, he wasn't sure that Ray would want anyone disturbing him, but this was a mother concerned for his wellbeing and he had no right to interfere. Presumably, Ray was awake and willing to accept her company, because almost twenty minutes passed and there was no sign of her returning. Fraser was pleased that they were

Fraser glanced at Dief who was sitting in front of the turtle's tank, staring at the reptile as he went about his business. The wolf had never understood why Ray had chosen such a strange animal as a companion. It just stayed in the tank all day, sleeping or eating and occasionally going for a brief swim. Dief had to admit that the turtle's lifestyle was quite appealing, except for the swimming. "We should be leaving," suggested Fraser, "Ray and his mother need some time alone together." Dief decided he was bored of watching the turtle anyway so he walked towards the door as Fraser scribbled a quick note for Ray and picked up his hat. Fraser stood up, ready to join Dief at the door, but gasped as he found himself face to face with the ghost of his father.

"Hello Son," grinned Bob, "compliments of the season to you."

Fraser quickly lowered his heartbeat back down to a regular pulse and forced a smile for his father. "Dad," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"A man can't turn up unannounced to wish his only son a Merry Christmas now?" huffed Bob.

Fraser sighed, he knew his father was playing with his emotions, but he went along with it anyway. "Of course you can," he replied, his voice much softer now, "and season's greetings to you too Dad."

"That's better," replied Bob as the smile returned to his face. He nodded towards the bedroom door. "So, what do you think of her? The Yank's mother, I mean."

Fraser was puzzled, why was his father asking about Barbara? He'd never shown any interest in Ray's family before. "Um, I think she's an admirable woman," he replied, cautiously.

"Admirable?" replied Bob, "Is that all you can say about her? She's delightful, Son, what a wonderful woman."

Now Fraser was starting to worry about his Dad, Fraser had never really heard him talk like that before...he was...gushing. Fraser's mouth opened and closed a few times before he could get any words out. "Yes...indeed..."

"That Vecchio woman, the other Yank's mother, now she's a scary woman," continued Bob, "good lord she can turn out a good lasagne, but really, you wouldn't want anything else would you?"

"Dad..."

"So what do you think? Have I got a chance?" Bob waited for his son to answer him, but Fraser was speechless. "I brought mistletoe..."

"What?" exclaimed Fraser, he really hoped he'd misunderstood.

"Well, it is Christmas," replied Bob, producing a sprig of mistletoe from the pouch on his Sam Browne, "I know she's married, I'm not talking about anything illicit..."

"Illicit?" Fraser exclaimed louder this time.

"Just a bit of Christmas fun," Bob shrugged, "come on Son, surely you haven't completely forgotten what it feels like to want a bit of excitement, maybe a kiss and a little cuddle...I know you still have certain feelings when you see a beautiful lady..."

"Dad are you actually hearing what you're saying?" Fraser was completely bewildered. He took a step closer to his father. "For one thing, you're dead, in case you've forgotten and for another thing, Barbara Kowalski is a respectable married woman whose husband happens to be currently in hospital, so even if you weren't dead at this juncture, it would most certainly not be acceptable for you to...to...proposition her in the way you're suggesting using the thinly veiled excuse of it being Christmas!"

There was a long pause. Eventually Bob spoke. "Have you finished?"

Fraser didn't reply, instead he screwed up his nose and sniffed. Then he stepped even closer to his Dad and sniffed again. "Are you...have you..." he sniffed again, not able to believe his own olfactory analysis of the situation. "Have you been drinking?" He was suddenly acutely aware of how flushed his father's cheeks were.

Bob immediately became defensive. "No...well, maybe just a festive eggnog, or two...or three...and then there was the mulled wine.."

"Good lord, you're drunk!" Fraser staggered back. Bob's breath was overpowering. Fraser was having trouble taking this all in. Since he'd started being visited by the ghost of his dead father he'd been forced to accept a lot of things, not least of which was the basic concept of the afterlife. Not that he hadn't been open to such possibilities anyway, he'd studied spiritual teachings and stories and scripture from many religions, but now he was regularly presented with a spirit, an apparition, or whatever the correct term was and he found that he almost forgot how strange it was sometimes...until things like this happened. His father was dead, how could he possibly have drunk excessive amounts of alcohol, it didn't make sense...although nothing to do with his father made a lot of sense. He'd seen him eat in the past... "How is that possible?" Fraser hadn't planned to vocalise his thoughts.

Bob didn't really feel the need to go into the technicalities at this point. He hiccupped.

Fraser looked down at Dief and then back to his father. "I know...I know what's happened here," he began, shaking his head as if that would help clear his mind, "I'm asleep, I've fallen asleep on the couch and now I'm dreaming...a wildly bizarre dream where dead people can become inebriated and lust over decent, respectable married women."

Bob glanced at Dief, but the wolf was bored of these nonsensical exchanges between the two humans and yawned. "Are you asleep too?" asked Bob. Dief ignored the question.

"Well I'll just lie down here," continued Fraser, making himself comfortable on the sofa, "and very soon I'll wake up and you'll be gone and I'll feel comfortable again about leaving Ray's mother alone." He closed his eyes and then opened them again, and his heart sank as he saw his father was still there. "Go, please Dad, just go," he begged.

Bob shrugged. "Well if that's the way you feel..." Fraser closed his eyes again and hoped that when he opened them this time, his visitor would be gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The next morning, Ray collected Fraser from the Consulate as they'd already agreed and headed for the hospital. Fraser had planned to speak with the security guards again while Ray visited his father. The journey was unusually silent. Barbara was in the front passenger seat so Fraser had to climb into the backseat, although fortunately Dief had agreed to stay at the Consulate with Turnbull, so Fraser was grateful that he didn't have to put up with the wolf's early morning temperament at close quarters, he was worse than Ray before caffeine. That lupine could really wallow, Fraser acknowledged to himself.

Barbara was talking occasionally, mainly about the weather and Fraser of course was politely joining in, but Ray just drove the car and said nothing, not that he was really one for small talk, Fraser reminded himself. Fraser really wanted to ask his friend if he was alright after the evening before, but they couldn't really talk with Barbara there. Fraser hoped that Ray had talked to his mother about whatever was troubling him and she'd helped him feel better in that way only a mother can.

Fraser often thought about what it would be like to have his mother around now that he was an adult. His only memories of his mother were from being a small boy and he never had the opportunity to experience growing up with her there to guide and nurture him. What would it be like to have his mother there to turn to when he was experiencing a particularly difficult case, or for advice when trying to support a victim? He imagined that it would be very comforting in both of those situations to have her to turn to. What would she have done after everything that happened with...Victoria. Fraser's breath hitched as he remembered her. He forced himself to stop thinking about her, he was very good at blocking the memories out these days. Instead, he went back to thinking about his mother. Fraser wondered if he would have fought with her as a teenager, whether he would have resented her interfering and fussing over him as he grew into a young adult. His father hadn't been around enough to interfere in his life when he was growing up, although he was making up for that now, Fraser thought to himself. He still wasn't exactly sure what had happened last night, he couldn't be certain as to whether he had imagined his father's drunken visit or not, not that he could be entirely certain that he didn't imagine every one of his father's visits. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it too much.

They arrived at the hospital and were heading to Damien's room when Ray's phone rang. "Vecchio," he snapped as he held it to his ear. "Oh, er, yeah he's right here." He passed the phone to Fraser. "It's Mel, for you."

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser, taking the phone.

Ray took a sharp breath. What if Mel was going to tell his buddy all about that stupid kiss, he thought. He had decided not to say anything to Fraser himself until he'd figured out exactly how he was going to explain it. He was hoping Mel had realised by now that he'd been in some sort of weird headspace and she would have forgotten all about it. He tried not to worry about it and followed his Mum into his Dad's room, leaving Fraser in the corridor to talk to Mel.

A few minutes later, Fraser joined them. "Good morning," he smiled at Damien, "you're looking well today. How are you feeling?" It wasn't a lie, of course Fraser would never lie directly anyway, but Damien really was looking much better than he had been yesterday. Ray and his Mum had already made exactly the same observation.

"Well I feel pretty good," replied Damien, "they'd better be letting me out of here soon. I'm looking forward to spending Christmas with you Raymond."

Ray nodded uncomfortably. He had resigned himself now to the fact that his parents would be living with him over Christmas and for goodness knows how long into the New Year. Insurance claims could take months to sort out, he knew that and he couldn't ask his parents to live in a motel over the holidays. Maybe it would be good for them all to spend some time together, he thought optimistically.

Fraser nodded and smiled. "If you'll all kindly excuse me, Melissa wishes to speak with me about something."

Ray sighed. "Er, look buddy, I, er..." he glanced at his Mum, he hadn't exactly told her what had happened, but she was his Mum and she seemed to have worked most of it out for herself. "I...I don't really know what happened, but I'm sorry if, er, if she's upset."

Fraser was a little puzzled. "I will pass your sentiments on to Melissa, I'm sure she will appreciate it," he began, "however she's more upset for the children."

"The, er, the children?" replied Ray, screwing up his face.

"Well it would be a terrible shame if their Christmas entertainment was cancelled entirely," Fraser continued, "but I'm hopeful we can arrange something at short notice."

"Entertainment?" Ray had no idea what he was talking about now.

"Of course it was terribly unfortunate for the clown who should have been here this afternoon to have slipped on a banana skin..."

"Wait, woah..." Ray interrupted him, "there was a clown...and he slipped on a banana skin? You're kiddin', right?"

"I would never joke about someone sustaining an injury Ray," Fraser was shocked that Ray would think such a thing.

Ray laughed. "Oh, right, sure. OK, well I'll see ya later."

Fraser left the Kowalski's and went to speak to Mel. She apologised for springing this on him, but they didn't want to let the children down. Fraser agreed to sing a few Christmas songs for the Children's Ward that afternoon, but was a little confused by Mel's next comment. "I'm sure Turnbull wouldn't mind doing a few card tricks for the kids," she said.

"Card tricks?" Fraser queried. As far as he was aware, Constable Turnbull had never performed tricks of any kind, unless you counted cleaning the entire Consulate building in less than thirty minutes when Inspector Thatcher had been in one of those particularly difficult moods.

"I think that's what he meant?" Mel wasn't sure now, "or perhaps he's better at making things disappear, or producing rabbits from hats? He didn't really go into details."

"Ah," Fraser was still puzzled, perhaps Turnbull had hidden talents that he was unaware of. "I'm sure he'll be more than happy to assist."

"There was one more thing," Mel looked a little sheepish, "the guy who was going to do this, the one who's now in plaster, well, he was going to play Santa for us too and give out some presents to the sick children."

"Oh dear," Fraser's palms began to sweat, "I'm not sure that I...that is to say, I realise that it will make the children happy, but I'm not sure I'm at all comfortable with the amount of deception involved...what I'm trying to say is, I am not Santa Claus."

Mel giggled. "I kind of figured you say that actually," she said, "and I'm guessing Turnbull's answer would be the same, so I was wondering...do you think Ray would do it?"

Fraser thought for a moment. Ray was acting a little out of character at the moment, his father's illness had of course upset him, but Fraser knew there was something else today. He smiled at Mel, remembering how much Ray had enjoyed the festive season last year. Fraser thought this might be the perfect opportunity for his friend to remind himself about the joy that life could bring. "I'll ask him, I'm sure he'll be in full agreement."

xXx

"You said I'd do what?" exclaimed Ray as he drove Fraser back to the Consulate. "I'm not doin' it buddy, no way."

"Ray, it's for sick children," Fraser reminded him.

Ray sighed. "Don't guilt trip me Fraser. I'm not doin' it."

Fraser decided to let Ray think about it for a while, hoping his conscience wouldn't allow him to refuse in the end.

xXx

"Ah...oh dear..." Turnbull was squirming with embarrassment. "Sir, I'm afraid that I have done a terrible thing, something so terrible that I am no longer worthy of wearing this uniform."

Fraser frowned. Turnbull had already told him about having to discuss the ambiguity over Ray's name with Mel and, despite Turnbull's protestations to the contrary, Fraser had insisted that it was not a disciplinary matter. What could possibly be the problem now? "Please explain yourself Constable," Fraser prompted.

"I...I...I lied Sir," Turnbull bit hard on his lower lip.

Now Fraser understood, things were starting to become clearer. "About being an accomplished magician you mean."

Turnbull hung his head in shame.

"Turnbull, why did you make such a claim to Melissa?" Fraser's face was serious.

"I'm not even sure Sir," admitted Turnbull, "we were talking about a number of subjects and Melissa mentioned that she enjoyed watching magicians perform. I learnt one very simple card trick a number of years ago...so in a moment of madness I decided to embellish the truth."

"So you are capable of performing a single conjuring trick?" Fraser asked.

"Yes," replied Turnbull, "using sleight of hand I am able to locate a particular card in the pack that you have previously selected without my knowledge and replaced in the pack."

"Well I'm sure the children will enjoy seeing you perform that this afternoon," said Fraser, "and if you possess the knowledge to perform sleight of hand techniques then you will be quickly able to learn a variety of similar tricks. I will assist you, I read a very interesting book on the subject in my Grandmother's library when I was a boy. You're a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police so learning new skills is second nature to you."

Turnbull was speechless. He had expected Fraser to report him immediately to Inspector Thatcher for his disgraceful behaviour, but instead he was offering to help him learn more magic tricks? "I...I..."

"Turnbull, it's alright," Fraser's voice was much softer now, "I understand why you did it and you can, in fact perform a magic trick already, so you weren't lying to Melissa, you were exaggerating." Fraser smiled to himself. It was clear that Turnbull thought very highly of the young nurse and he was prepared to go to some length to impress her. From what little he knew of Melissa and from their brief conversation this morning, it seemed that she felt the same about his younger colleague. Fraser couldn't quite imagine Constable Turnbull courting a romantic partner and besides, he wasn't sure if this burgeoning friendship would ever blossom into anything romantic, but he was pleased for them both as he knew only too well how important a close friendship was and how much it could enrich your life.

xXx

"Do you have the cards?" asked Fraser, picking up his guitar.

"Yes," replied Turnbull.

"And the plastic cups and silk handkerchiefs?"

"Yes, I've got all the props in this bag."

"Excellent. I believe Ray will be here any moment," Fraser glanced out of the front window, but was surprised to see not Ray, but Lieutenant Welsh walking up the path to the Consulate. Fraser opened the door before the Lieutenant had the chance to knock. "Good afternoon Sir, how may I be of assistance?"

Welsh said nothing and walked into the hallway. His face fell as he saw Constable Turnbull was there. "Welcome to Canada Lieutenant," beamed Turnbull.

Welsh didn't have a lot of time for Turnbull. He was used to Fraser not pronouncing his title the American way and it annoyed him less than it used to a couple of years ago, but Turnbull was able to make it sound even more annoying. He had no idea how the idiot had ever passed the entrance exams to Mountie school, or whatever their Academy was called up there, they probably let him graduate to get rid of him, Welsh thought to himself.

Fraser saw the look on the Lieutenant's face and realised that he wanted some privacy. "Sir, would you like to step into my office?" he suggested. "Turnbull, when Ray arrives please pass on my apologies, I'll be with you shortly."

Welsh followed Fraser into his tiny office at the back of the building. Fraser cleared a chair of some old files that Inspector Thatcher had left there and indicated to the Lieutenant to sit down. "Thanks-shh," said Welsh and sat down hard.

"What can I do for you Sir?" asked Fraser, seating himself at his desk. Welsh appeared to be slurring his speech and Fraser could smell a strong hint of alcohol on the Lieutenant's breath, so his level of concern immediately rose. Welsh's father was an alcoholic and Fraser knew that neither the Lieutenant nor his brother consumed much alcohol at all.

Welsh sighed and hiccupped. "I booked into a motel, but I didn't wanna go back there..." It wasn't really an explanation.

Fraser wasn't sure how far he should push the man. It was clear now that Welsh was somewhat distressed. "Would you like me to ask Turnbull to make you some coffee?" he asked. Welsh simply nodded silently and Fraser opened the door and called out to his younger colleague. Diefenbaker took the opportunity to walk into the office and he sat at Welsh's feet. Fraser couldn't help but notice the gesture as the wolf generally steered clear of the usually gruff Lieutenant. Welsh wasn't one to fuss over Diefenbaker at all under normal circumstances, but now he leant forward and ruffled the animal's ears.

"I went home, to sshhh...see my wife," slurred Welsh quietly.

"Ah."

"I...I just ashh-asked her why, Conshtable," Welsh continued. Fraser had never heard so much emotion in his voice before. "I deserve an exshplanation don't I? After all these years...I don't want it to end now. We're good together. I love her Fraser, I can't live without her..."

Fraser was quite taken aback, Welsh often spoke with passion about the job, about his Detectives and the work they did, but Fraser hardly ever heard him speak about his wife at all, especially not about his feelings for her. Almost everyone else at the Twenty Seventh seemed happy to talk about their private lives and the state of their relationships. Fraser wasn't one for gossip, but he knew a surprising amount of detail about Detective Grainger's husband's bad habits and about Sergeant Green's girlfriends...both of them. Fraser wondered for a moment whether he should suggest that Welsh discussed this with Ray, as Ray could draw on his own experience of a degenerating marriage and perhaps offer some advice, but then he realised that the destructive path towards Ray's divorce was probably the last thing the Lieutenant wanted to hear about. "I assume that your wife wasn't as receptive as you'd hoped," he said gently, rubbing at his eyebrow with his fingertips.

Welsh hung his head sadly. "She said she...she wanted a divorce, I told her not to be so ridiculous-shh."

Fraser sighed. Welsh could be very obstinate at times, but talking to his wife the way he spoke to one of his Detectives when they'd done something to irritate him wasn't going to help. "Did you discuss her reasons for that request?" he asked, as Turnbull hurried in with Welsh's coffee and left the room as quickly as he had arrived.

"There's nothing to discuss-shh," retorted Welsh, sipping his coffee and screwing up his nose at the taste, "I've always provided for her, I fix up the house, I see to her...well, you know...her womanly desires-shh. I'm a good husband."

Fraser felt the colour in his cheeks deepen. The Lieutenant's bedroom activities were not something he wanted to think about. He knew that this was the drink talking, Welsh would never be speaking so freely otherwise. "Sir," he began gingerly, "if you don't mind me asking, how much alcohol have you consumed today?"

"Not enough," snapped Welsh, getting up from his chair suddenly and startling Diefenbaker. He stood with his arms folded and looked at Fraser. "Do you remember me telling you about my Dad?" he asked and Fraser nodded. "Well I'm not him, thishh...this is just temporary, OK...it helpshh...it helpshh me think."

"I would have thought that it would actually have the opposite effect," replied Fraser.

"Here," Welsh reached into his pocket and pulled out his car key. He threw it at Fraser who plucked it out of the air with one hand. "If thishh is what you're worried about, I'll call a cab."

"Loneliness gets you like that Son."

Fraser almost jumped as his father appeared behind Welsh. Then he almost fell backwards as Welsh spun round and looked straight at the ghost of Bob Fraser. "Sure does," said Welsh, "Who are you? Are you here for that big dinner the Inshh...Inshhpector has been talking about for months? Look pal, we were having a private convershh...convershh...a private chat, if you don't mind."

Fraser's eyes were as wide as saucers and Bob's were almost as bad. "You...you can see me?" Bob stammered.

"I'm not that drunk," replied Welsh sitting back down on the chair. "You look like a man who's...been through a few thingshh," he began.

"More than you could possibly imagine," said Bob, walking round to stand with his startled son.

"So, women...they're never happy, how do we make them happy?" asked Welsh.

"Well...well..." Bob turned to his son, but Fraser could do nothing but shrug. Bob went on, "I don't have a vast amount of experience, my wife passed away a long time ago."

"I'm shh-shorry to hear that," said Welsh, sighing with frustration as he was now very aware of slurring his words.

"I would suggest that if you still want to be with her, you should do everything in your power ensure that happens, even if it means swallowing your pride," continued Bob, seriously, "because sometimes, the decision to be apart is taken out of your hands."

Welsh nodded.

"If I could make one more suggestion," said Bob and Welsh listened intently, "I have myself, on occasion, assumed that dulling the pain with alcohol would help, but it doesn't, it just makes you do stupid things and then when the headache has worn off you feel worse."

"Well, you've certainly done some stupid things recently," Fraser noted. He had no idea why Welsh was able to see his father, but as with most things involving his father, he decided it was best not to try to understand.

Bob realised his son was talking about the incident at Ray's apartment. Barbara Kowalski...the mistletoe...he'd found it in his pocket when he'd finally sobered up and it had taken a few minutes to remember what he'd said. He felt quite bad about it, he always prided himself on the way he treated women, with the greatest respect usually. He decided that Dilys Cresswell had made the eggnog extra strong on purpose and vowed never to touch a drop of alcohol in the afterlife again. "I'm sorry about that Son," he mumbled. "If I have any excuse...it's Christmas..."

"That's what you said last night," Fraser pointed out. "However, the festive season hasn't suddenly caused everyone to make such inappropriate suggestions."

"No," agree Bob, "but that's not what I was going to say, although for some reason everything is worse at this time of year. I was actually going to blame..." he glanced at Welsh again, before continuing, "...loneliness."

Welsh suddenly looked like he was going to break down. "I need another drink," he said.

Fraser shook his head. "I'm sorry Sir, you know I can't do that."

"Do you have any idea what it's like living in a motel Frasshher?" he slurred. "I finish work, I've spent the whole day being polite to shh-scumbags and lowlifes, treating them with reshhpect...that's what we're told isn't it, they're human beings-shh, they have rights, well we shh-shh-see just what human beings are capable of don't we, why should they have any rights..."

Fraser could so easily have launched into a speech about what exactly separates law abiding citizens from criminals and how, if they denied any human being their basic rights, they'd be no better than them, but he once again saw the sadness in the Lieutenant's eyes and realised this was not the time. He knew Lieutenant Welsh was a good, decent man and an exemplary officer of the law. He also knew how easy it was to start thinking exactly the same thoughts as the older man had expressed. Sometimes Fraser had to fight with every inch of his self control to maintain the right.

"Then after a day like that I go back to a cold motel room...alone," continued Welsh. "Oh god Frashher, I miss my wife..." This time he did break down, just for a moment and Fraser admired the man's ability to regain control so quickly, even with the amount of alcohol in his system.

"I miss mine too," added Bob.

"I'm shhorry," said Welsh, "I can't...losing her so young...it mussht have been awful."

Bob shrugged. "It was a long time ago," he replied.

Fraser could hear Ray's voice in the hallway now. He glanced at his watch, they couldn't be late for the children. He looked up at his Dad. "Um, could I have a quiet word please?"

Bob nodded and stood by the door with Fraser as Welsh finished the last of his coffee and paid Dief some more attention.

"Dad," hissed Fraser, "I have to go now. Do you think you could persuade him to sleep this off? For goodness sake, don't tell him who you are, but if you can think of anything to say that will help...I hate seeing him like this."

"I've always liked him, he's a good man," replied Bob, "I'll do my best. I have no idea why he can see me though?"

"It must be the alcohol," replied Fraser, "his brain isn't used to it, he rarely touches a drop. Perhaps it's altered his perception somehow? I'm sorry, I don't have time to ponder it any longer."

Bob thought about that for a moment, he'd have to ask around, see if anyone else had experienced anything similar. "Don't worry Son, I'll take care of him."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The children clapped and cheered as Fraser put down his guitar. "Oh can't we sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer again? Please!" called out little Emily who was enjoying the show from her bed.

Fraser laughed. "We've already sung that one twice," he replied, "perhaps one more time before I go." Emily smiled. "Now it's time for Constable Turnbull to astound us all with some magic." He turned and smiled encouragingly at the younger Mountie who was looking rather nervous.

"Did you bring your horses?" asked Emily.

"I'm afraid we did not," replied Fraser. He nodded to Turnbull who was still fumbling with his props. He knew that the children would start to get bored if something didn't happen soon.

"Are you really Mounties?" Emily was certainly inquisitive.

"Yes we are," Fraser confirmed. He contemplated singing another song to hold the children's attention while they waited for Turnbull.

"From Canada?" Emily continued. Fraser nodded and looked at Turnbull, he still wasn't ready. "Did you come all the way to Chicago to do Christmas songs and magic for us?" asked the little girl.

"No, we both live and work here," explained Fraser. "I first came to Chicago on the trail of...um, of a criminal," Fraser realised the children didn't need to know about his father's murder.

"Did you catch him?" Emily continued.

"Of course he did," a little boy called Simon shouted. "I bet he shot him," Simon was getting excited now.

This boy had clearly watched too many age inappropriate television shows, thought Fraser. "Actually I am not licensed to carry a sidearm in this country."

The boy obviously wasn't listening. "I bet he ran after him then jumped on him and punched him and then shot him and then..."

"Oh it looks like Constable Turnbull is finally ready," Fraser breathed a sigh of relief, Simon was beginning to upset some of the younger children.

Ray was hiding in the nurses room next door, waiting for his cue. He could hear the two Mounties singing loudly with the excited children joining in as Fraser played his guitar. "If they sing Santa Drives a Pickup, I'm gonna kick someone in the head," Ray said, glancing down at Diefenbaker. "I dunno what you're starin' at," he snapped at the wolf, "you're the one wearin' the reindeer antlers."

Dief yapped and shook his head, jingling the bells in the plastic decorations that were strapped under his chin.

"Remember, like Fraser said, we're doin' this for the kids," said Ray, adjusting his fluffy white beard. "For a Canadian, he sure knows how to, er, make ya feel guilty."

The door opened and Fraser stuck his head into the room. "Are you ready Ray?" he asked, "I believe Constable Turnbull has almost finished his endeavours."

"Greatness," mumbled Ray. He picked up the sack of brightly wrapped presents and reluctantly followed Fraser to the Children's War, with an even more reluctant Dief at his heels. "I'm not sayin' 'Ho ho ho' buddy," hissed Ray, "no way, got it?"

"Understood Ray," replied Fraser, holding open the door. The children were overjoyed to see Santa Claus appear, they squealed and clapped with delight and came running over to him excitedly, laughing and chattering.

Ray took one look at the children's happy faces and couldn't help it...his own face softened into a grin. "Ho ho ho..."

Fraser watched as Ray threw himself into the role of Santa, handing out the presents and enthusiastically chatting to the children as they ran around and played with Dief, who was being particularly compliant. Ray sat on Emily's bed and handed her a present from his sack. The little girl gave him a huge hug and if Ray still had any doubts about whether he wanted to be doing this, they all melted away in that one moment.

Fraser saw Ray's mother walk around the corner. "Hello Barbara," he smiled as he helped Turnbull pack away his magic things, "you remember Constable Turnbull, don't you?"

"Yes of course I do," replied Barbara, "another handsome young Mountie, we're really spoiled here in this city."

Barbara laughed as Fraser and Turnbull's faces both turned a shade of crimson not dissimilar to their tunics.

"I just thought I'd sneak down here and see Stanley," explained Barbara, "Melissa told me he was playing Santa for the kids. Oh look there he is!"

Fraser smiled at the look of pride on her face.

"It's such a lovely thing for him to do isn't it. He loves kids. I just wish he and Stella could have..." Barbara's voice trailed off as she thought about what might have been, "but that's all in the past now..."

"I'll go and tell the nurses that we're finished here Sir," offered Turnbull and Fraser nodded in confirmation.

Fraser watched him go and then turned to Barbara. "There's still plenty of time for grandchildren," he smiled.

Barbara laughed. "Perhaps I'm being a little selfish?" she suggested. "Stanley and Stella were never right together, it would have been so sad if they'd had babies and then...well, it would have been terrible. That marriage was never going to work, I think I knew that really from the start, I should have tried to talk them out of it then maybe they wouldn't have had to go through all the hurt..." She sighed. "A mother knows, Benton. I knew, but I think I was just hoping they'd change as they got older."

"Ray and Stella were old enough to make their own decision," said Fraser, "what happened was not your fault."

Barbara smiled. "Maybe. Stella's a lovely girl, but they're too different, they had no common ground apart from their dancing. Damien and I have so much in common, I guess that's why we've been together for so long. Of course we've had our moments, Damien can be the most stubborn man in the world sometimes, but...I just want my Stanley to be as happy as we are."

Fraser smiled. He wished his parents had been given the chance to grow old together, but that chance had been cruelly taken away. He knew only too well how stubborn his own father could be and he wondered how his mother would have coped with that. All that he knew about his mother, apart from those few early childhood memories that he cherished so dearly, he'd learnt from Buck Frobisher. His father rarely spoke about her, if at all, the grief was still too raw, even after all this time. Fraser understood that, but he sometimes wished that his father could have been able to share that grief with him. After all, he was grieving too. Ray was a lucky man, Fraser concluded as he watched Barbara looking with pride at her son.

When Santa had finished and Fraser had accompanied the children in one more reprise of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, just as he'd promised, they left the nurses with the difficult task of calming them all down and getting them back into their beds. As soon as they were out of sight of the children, Ray pulled off his beard and hat. "That thing scratches like crazy," he mumbled.

"You made an excellent Santa," said Fraser, "perhaps you could consider making it an annual event?" Ray sneered at his buddy's suggestion. Fraser ignored him.

"I would most certainly enjoy performing another magic show next Christmas," said Turnbull.

"The children appeared very entertained by your conjuring," agreed Fraser, "as a matter of fact, I think..." but he didn't get chance to finish his sentence as Melissa came running along the corridor and almost crashed into them.

"Oh thank god I found you," she said, panting slightly, "you have to come quickly, he was here again, in Mrs Hoffman's room and I called Security and then Mr Hoffman came and they had a fight and he hit him...the man I mean...he hit the man, but he got away and now Security have Mr Hoffman..."

"Hey, slow down," said Ray and Turnbull nodded furiously. Mel had garbled most of that out so quickly that he didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

"Take a deep breath and start from the beginning," urged Fraser.

Mel nodded and tried to calm down. "I went into Mrs Hoffman's room and the creepy guy was in there again and he wouldn't leave, he was staring at me in this really weird way, it was freaking me out again...so I told him I was going to call Security, but before they got down there Mr Hoffman arrived and I told him what was going on he didn't know who the guy was either. He claimed he was Mrs Hoffman's brother again and then her husband just went crazy. They got into this fight, but those idiots from Security showed up and dragged Mr Hoffman off the guy and they said they were going to call the cops and get him arrested for assault!"

"What happened to the other guy?" asked Ray, but he had a bad feeling he knew the answer already.

"I don't know," said Mel, her voice cracking with emotion, "he disappeared while all the shouting was going on."

"And where is Mr Hoffman now?" asked Fraser.

"Security have got him in their office," replied Mel, "quickly, you have to stop this, he didn't do anything wrong, not really. No one seems to care that there's a guy getting into a patient's room. She's still in a critical condition, what is he doing in there? Oh god, he could do anything to her..." She was starting to get really upset again now and she stepped closer to Turnbull, subconsciously looking for comfort. The young Mountie put his arm around her shoulder, a little timidly.

"It's alright, we'll go and attempt to sort this out," said Fraser and they all went to the Security office. They could hear Luke Hoffman yelling all the way down the corridor.

Fraser knocked on the door, but didn't wait to be invited in. "Excuse me, my name is Constable Fraser, RCMP," he said, ignoring the protests of the two security guards as he strode in. "I believe I may be able to assist with this situation."

"Hey, we've got this OK," replied the older of the two security guards. Then he noticed Ray, who was still wearing half of his Santa costume. "You!" he exclaimed, recognising him from the day before. "You're a cop, we caught this guy beating up some other guy."

"That other guy was some weirdo who's been getting in my wife's hospital room!" exclaimed Luke Hoffman, struggling to free himself from the firm grasp of the other security guard. "He's the same guy who's been stalking her for weeks. Why didn't you stop him?"

"Because they're jerks," sneered Ray. "OK, I'm the only one here with, er, any kinda arrest authority, so let's all calm down and ya can start by lettin' him go." The security guard looked at his colleague, but didn't show any signs of releasing Luke Hoffman. "Now," added Ray firmly. Reluctantly, the guard released his prisoner.

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser. "Nurse McIntyre here is a witness to the incident, may I suggest that we all take a few moments to discuss the facts. Mr Hoffman, you said that you believe the man you saw today is the same individual who has been spending an unusual amount of time in close proximity to your wife, how have you reached that conclusion?"

"Detective Dewey, the cop who's investigating the arson, he showed me a picture taken from the CCTV camera outside the steakhouse where Tammy works," explained Luke, relieved that someone was finally listening to him. "It wasn't a very clear picture, but when the nurse told me this creep's been in my wife's room before I realised it was the same man. I'm sorry, I just reacted, my wife...she's..." his voice cracked and he couldn't speak any more.

Fraser assured him that under the circumstances, his reaction was understandable. He could see how worried the man was about his wife. She still hadn't regained consciousness after the fire and she had suffered some life changing injuries. Ray really felt for him too. He was already living through hell, with his wife still in a really bad way this was the last thing he needed.

Melissa went over what had happened again, explaining that the mysterious man had been in Tammy Hoffman's room on more than one occasion and that his behaviour had been very disturbing. The security guards didn't exactly apologise, but at least they finally realised that this situation was far more serious than they'd thought. They'd dismissed Melissa's previous reports as just her overreacting to some harmless guy, but now it seemed that they'd been wrong. They weren't about to admit that to anyone though. "OK, we'll talk to our boss, see if we can get some more manpower on this," said the older guard.

Turnbull had been watching Melissa throughout this and he could see she was getting more upset. "Perhaps you and I should escort Mr Hoffman back to his wife?" he suggested to her. "Constable Fraser, if you need me for anything further I'll be...um, with Melissa."

"Thank you Constable," replied Fraser and he and Ray stayed with the Security guards, while Turnbull and Mel walked Luke Hoffman back to his wife's room. Fortunately there was no one else there this time and Mel said Luke could sit with his wife for a while. As she left the room and rejoined Turnbull, who'd waited outside, she started to feel a little weird, her head was spinning and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Something had occurred to her as they'd been walking along and she didn't like it, in fact the more she thought about it the more her head hurt.

"Are you alright?" asked a concerned Turnbull.

"Um, no," she admitted, "Turnbull, if that guy is Tammy Hoffman's stalker, then what if...what if he's stalking me too?"

Turnbull drew a sharp breath. "We have no evidence to support that theory," he replied.

"But it's more than a coincidence that he's been here so often when I'm on duty," replied Mel, "I work different shifts every day..." her voice trailed off.

Turnbull thought for a moment. There was a possibility that she was right, it was rather too much of a coincidence. He tried to think of something encouraging and supportive to say, but words failed him.

"I'm...I'm scared Turnbull," she said, glancing over her shoulder as if she half expected the stalker to be watching her now. Tears started to stream down her face and her breathing became even more uneven.

Turnbull didn't know what to do. He wished Constable Fraser was here, he would know what to say. "Melissa...um...please don't...don't cry," he said, "everything will be alright...I...I assure you..." his hands were shaking, but he took her firmly by the shoulders. "I can offer you the full protection of the Canadian Consulate." As he said it he knew he had no authorisation to make such a bold offer, but it was too late now.

"Really?" Mel tried to smile through her tears. "Oh Turnbull, thank you, I feel safer already." She fell into his arms and he hesitated for just a moment before wrapping his arms around her.

xXx

Fraser had barely stepped into the Consulate when he heard Inspector Meg Thatcher's voice. "Constable Fraser, I'm so glad you're back." The words were dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps you would mind explaining this to me."

"Explaining what exactly Sir?" asked a puzzled Fraser as Turnbull and Melissa followed him inside. Ray had decided to take him mum straight home. Fraser had been a little worried about him, there was a strange atmosphere between Melissa and Ray and Fraser had no idea what was wrong. With everything that had been going on, he'd had very little time to talk to Ray over the last couple of days. He made a mental note to correct that oversight as soon as possible, his friend was dealing with a lot at the moment, Ray needed him.

Inspector Thatcher slowly pushed open the door of the main reception room and stepped back so that Fraser could see into the room. "Oh dear," he said. Lieutenant Welsh was sprawled across the large leather sofa, snoring loudly.

"Oh dear is not an explanation Fraser," snapped Meg.

"Well, I...that is, I had to leave and Lieutenant Welsh was feeling, um, unwell..."

"Unwell my foot Constable," replied Thatcher. "I tried to wake him earlier, that man is..." she lowered her voice, aware that Turnbull was not far away, "he's had too much to drink and passed out on my couch. Am I right?"

"Ah," Fraser mumbled, rubbing at his eyebrow with his fingertips. He didn't want to betray the Lieutenant's confidence. "You are correct. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Welsh is going through a temporary personal crisis..."

"I don't care!" Meg interrupted him. Then she sighed and spoke again in a much softer voice. "Of course, I didn't mean...well, I'm sorry, but really, I have a lot to organise and only two days left. He'll have to have his personal crisis somewhere else."

"Understood," replied Fraser and he followed the Inspector back into the hall. Then she saw Melissa and her eyes were drawn to her large overnight bag. They'd come back from the hospital via her apartment so that she could pack some clothes and essential items.

"And you are?" she sighed.

"This is Melissa McIntyre," Turnbull spoke before Mel had a chance. "I've arranged...um, that is...er..." he looked to Fraser for help.

"Unfortunately Melissa has attracted the unwanted attentions of a suspected malfeasant wanted for questioning in connection with the trailer park arson and possibly other charges," explained Fraser, "she is in need of our protection until this man is apprehended."

"Oh I see," Meg threw her arms up in despair. "Well in that case, welcome to Hotel Canadian Consulate!" She was really fuming now. "Room and board is free and Turnbull will cook your breakfast in the morning, just tell him how you like your eggs. If you want room service call the wolf. I'm afraid the couch is taken so I assume you'll be in the Royal Suite."

"The, er, Royal Suite?" Mel looked nervously at Turnbull. "If this is inconvenient, then..."

"No! Not at all!" exclaimed Meg. "No inconvenience, you can stay as long as you like. Stay for Christmas!" Sarcasm came so easily to her, especially when she was stressed. "Fraser, you're in charge, I want my Consulate back by tomorrow morning. I'm going home." With that she grabbed her coat and stormed out of the building.

Fraser looked at Turnbull. "Oh dear," he muttered.

Turnbull took Melissa up to the bedroom and tried to reassure her that Inspector Thatcher was fine with her staying there. He left her alone to settle in while he went to cook some dinner and Fraser was completing his daily report.

Melissa was a little quiet through the meal and Fraser was concerned about her. She talked a little about what had happened with Luke Hoffman earlier, but mainly she spoke about other things. Fraser could see that she was very upset about what was happening, but he didn't want to push her too much. Maybe a good night's sleep, knowing she was safe here, would be good for her, he thought.

"The girls at work are trying to get me to go out with them for a Christmas party at a nightclub," she said. "I've never been to a nightclub in my life, I really can't bear dance music."

"Neither can I," agreed Turnbull and Fraser nodded too.

"I like to stay in, watch old movies, that sort of thing," she said. "Or sport. Apparently it's not cool for girls to like sport." Mel rolled her eyes. "But since when have I been cool?"

"I enjoy watching curling," said Turnbull, "I find it...exhilarating."

"I've never really watched curling," said Mel, "I don't even know the rules, maybe...um, maybe you could talk me through a game one day?"

Turnbull blushed hard. Everyone he'd encountered in Chicago so far thought curling was stupid, especially Ray, he'd called it housework! Turnbull rarely had the urge to commit a violent act, but he'd come that close to punching Ray that day...or at least slapping him...not too hard obviously...but he'd been very angry with the detective for disrespecting the sport he loved. "I'd...I'd like that very much indeed. I know the first time you see a rock sliding down the sheet towards that button...well, I know you'll fall in love...er, with curling I mean, of course, um...oh dear."

Melissa blushed too and smiled.

After dinner Fraser checked on Welsh, but he was still sleeping so Fraser decided not to disturb him. This could be an interesting night, thought Fraser as he helped Turnbull clear up after dinner. "Lieutenant Welsh will be staying with us for a few hours until he recovers from his...illness," Fraser explained to the younger man. He didn't think that Turnbull had realised Welsh had been drinking, unlike Inspector Thatcher and he saw no need to enlighten him further.

Fraser left Melissa talking to Turnbull and went back to his office. Dief yapped and jumped on an empty chair as Fraser seated himself at his desk. "Turnbull and Melissa? No they're just friends," Fraser frowned at his wolf. Dief growled and yapped. "When did you turn into such a romantic?" asked Fraser, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Constable Turnbull has nothing but honourable intentions towards the young lady I'm sure." Fraser shook his head and started to read through some paperwork.

"Ah there you are Son," Bob Fraser opened the door to Fraser's closet and stepped into the room, shutting the door quickly before too much snow blew in with him. "I left your Lieutenant asleep on the couch, it didn't look to me like he'd make it very far on foot and I couldn't exactly call him a cab."

"Thank you kindly Dad, we've already found him," replied Fraser, "in fact he's still there."

"What!" exclaimed Bob, "it's been hours hasn't it? I mean, it's been a week and a half for me, but I'm getting quite good at working these things out."

Fraser didn't understand how the passage of time worked in wherever it was that his father lived, or at least existed. Actually there were a lot of things about it that he didn't understand, but he'd soon realised that his father didn't really know much himself. The usual laws of physics, for example, were flexible to say the least. In addition, the laws of privacy seemed to be very similar, at least in Bob Fraser's mind. "I've left him to sleep it off. I imagine he will feel unwell when he finally awakes."

"He's certainly going to have one hell of a hangover," agree Bob. "Did I ever tell you about the time Buck Frobisher and I got stranded up on Old Boar Pass? We finished all the rations in our packs in less than twenty four hours and then all we had was the bottle of Barry Lockhart's special brew that he'd given Buck to thank him for fixing his dogsled harness. Well, without going into all the unpleasant details, I could tell you a thing or two about hangovers."

"Thank you Dad," said Fraser, "was there anything else?" He was being deliberately short with his father, but he was a little annoyed with him over Welsh, although it wasn't really his fault Fraser concluded.

"No, I don't think so Son," shrugged Bob, "but you'd better keep an eye on that enamoured young man."

"I don't think Constable Turnbull is enamoured exactly," replied Fraser, glancing at Dief, who was looking particularly smug.

"Oh I've seen young love before," said Bob, "I even experienced it myself once and believe me, he has that look in his eyes."

"What look?" retorted Fraser.

"The look of love, Son," smiled Bob. "Mark my words, he may act like an idiot, but underneath all of that is a virile Mountie, just like you and me."

"You're dead," Fraser reminded him. Virile was not a word he would ever have attributed to either Constable Turnbull, or his father, even when he was alive.

"Well thank you for reminding me Son," sulked Bob, "but I'll have you know that in my youth, before I met your mother..."

"I don't want to know!" exclaimed Fraser and closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them his father's ghost had disappeared and he breathed a short sigh of relief. Diefenbaker looked up at him and barked. "No I don't have a doughnut," replied Fraser. "If you're hungry, have some pemmican. You know where it is." Dief yawned and stretched out, preparing to go to sleep hungry. The last thing he wanted was pemmican, horrible chewy substance, he thought.

There was a knock at the door and Melissa and Turnbull poked their heads into the room. "I was going to go to bed," explained Melissa. "Thanks again for letting me stay, I hope you're not in too much trouble with your Inspector. Goodnight."

"It's no trouble at all. Sleep well," smiled Fraser and she went upstairs.

"Sir, I hope you don't mind," began Turnbull a little nervously, "but I thought it prudent if I stayed here tonight also. Just in case you experience any trouble, I may be able to be of assistance."

Fraser wasn't exactly sure what kind of trouble Turnbull was expecting, but he couldn't see any harm in allowing the younger man to stay. "Alright. Where will you sleep?"

Dief made a low throaty noise and Fraser glared at him. "That is enough!" He snapped at the animal. For a wolf he had a vivid imagination. Fortunately Turnbull had let his wolf language skills slip in recent months.

"I'll sleep in the hall," replied Turnbull.

"I'll get you a bedroll," replied Fraser, gingerly opening the door of his closet, just in case sounds of woodcutting or singing were to escape. However, there were no signs of his father.

"Goodnight Sir," said Turnbull, taking the bedroll from Fraser.

"Goodnight Turnbull," nodded Fraser. He'd been right earlier, tonight was shaping up to be very interesting indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lieutenant Welsh slowly opened his eyes and groaned. So he hadn't been dreaming, he really had slept on the couch at the Canadian Consulate. His head was pounding and his stomach was churning, he desperately wanted a glass of water...oh, there was one right here, one of the Mounties must have left it for him, he thought. Welsh picked up the tall glass and sipped at the water, the cool liquid bringing his mouth back to life. He tried to remember how he'd got here, he had a vague memory of being in a bar, the bar at the hotel, why he'd decided that drinking was going to solve all his problems he had no idea. He and his brother had made a pact never to drink, ever, not after they'd watched their father's descent into alcoholism and lived through the effects it had on their family. Welsh liked a cool beer if he was watching a game and the occasional glass of whiskey, especially after a visit from the Feds, those morons would drive anyone to drink, but that was about it usually.

So he'd got drunk and wound up here...it didn't make much sense to him. He must have thought that Fraser could help him somehow. Then there was that other guy, the older Mountie...the memories were still hazy.

Welsh sat up straighter as the door opened slowly and Fraser gingerly walked in. "Ah, you're awake Sir. Um, how are you feeling?"

"A word of advice Constable," replied Welsh, quietly, "don't ask stupid questions."

"I'm sorry Sir," said Fraser, "I will try to remember that in future. I've just been speaking to Francesca Vecchio on the telephone," he continued, "she has been concerned about your absence from work and she asked if I knew your location."

Welsh sighed and shook his head. He'd need to come up with a cover story. "What did you tell her?" he asked.

"I told her you were here," replied Fraser, "I didn't go into details."

"Thank you," said Welsh.

"Francesca also wanted me to tell you that your brother has arrived in Chicago and he is waiting for you in your office," added Fraser.

"What?" exclaimed Welsh, immediately regretting the level of volume he'd produced. "Wilson's here already? But he's not due to arrive until Wednesday?"

"Um, Sir, today is Wednesday," Fraser pointed out.

Welsh hung his head. "Then I've lost a whole day," he said to the floor. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and let out a quiet groan.

"Sir," began Fraser, "I have one or two suggestions that should help you to feel better, if I may."

Welsh didn't feel like he could even move, so he nodded to the Mountie and Fraser headed to the kitchen. He soon returned with a steaming mug of something or other. Welsh wasn't exactly sure what was in it, but it tasted OK and it seemed to be settling his stomach so he decided not to ask.

"Thanks," said Welsh, handing the empty mug back to Fraser. "I guess I should go and face Wilson. I haven't told him about...well, about my current living arrangements. I was hoping the whole thing would've been resolved by now."

"Would you like me to drive you Sir?" asked Fraser.

Welsh thought about that offer for a moment. He assumed Fraser wasn't a bad driver really, but he'd been in a car with him once before and he got the distinct impression that the Mountie became very nervous when he had a passenger. However he knew he shouldn't get behind the wheel of a car himself just yet. "I appreciate the offer Constable," he said, "but I think I'll walk. The fresh air will probably do me good."

"Agreed," replied Fraser.

Welsh got to his feet, rather unsteadily at first, but he soon found his balance. "Um, thanks for everything Fraser," he said, "I'd appreciate it if you could keep this quiet...please..."

"Of course Sir, you can count on my discretion," Fraser assured him.

Welsh headed for the door. "Oh and thank the other Mountie for me too, the old guy, I didn't catch his name...or more likely I've forgotten it. Anyway, I think I was in a bit of a state, but he actually said some things that made a lotta sense. He gave me some good advice, made me think about...well, I guess you Canadians know everything don't you."

"Not everything Sir," replied Fraser, wondering exactly what his father had said, "but I will certainly pass on your thanks next time I see him. Sir, I do hope that...um, I'm sorry that..."

"Don't feel sorry for me Constable," snapped Welsh. "I think most of this is my own doing. I've been selfish all these years, but I didn't realise that before. If I can deal with the scumbags and junkies then I can deal with this. I love my wife." The Lieutenant suddenly felt rather uncomfortable. That heartfelt declaration had just come out, he didn't know what to say next.

Fraser felt awkward too, this certainly wasn't the usual kind of discussion he had with Lieutenant Welsh at all. He stood almost to attention and simply nodded silently. Welsh nodded an acknowledgement and left.

Melissa and Turnbull were eating breakfast in the kitchen. "Has the Lieutenant left? Is he feeling better today?" Turnbull asked as Fraser joined them.

"Yes and yes," replied Fraser. He was pleased to see Melissa was smiling and seemed rested. "I'm expecting Ray shortly, I asked him to assist me with some Consular work this morning. Constable Turnbull, Inspector Thatcher will be here soon so I suggest that we ensure that the Consulate is...presentable for her arrival."

"Yes Sir, of course Sir," Turnbull leapt off his chair and grabbed an apron and feather duster from the back of the door.

Mel giggled at the sight of Turnbull wearing the apron. She admired his desire to please and his dedication to duty and besides, she thought to herself, he looked kind of...cute.

Fraser wasn't quite so impressed. When Inspector Thatcher had first arrived at the Consulate, he too had been eager to please, but she had taken advantage of his good nature and had used him for menial tasks, such as collecting her dry cleaning. It had taken a while, but he'd started to stand up for himself, when it was appropriate and now he felt the Inspector respected him, a little at least. The...contact...about which he was never supposed to think again, although frequently did... had probably helped though, he realised. Turnbull, on the other hand, had yet to find the courage to stand up to her. He was a Mountie, a trained Police officer and had, on occasion, proven his skills in the field. Perhaps not that often, Fraser admitted to himself, but then he didn't get many chances to do so. Fraser lived at the Consulate and kept the place clean and tidy, but apparently it was never enough for the Inspector. She could always find some housework for Turnbull to do, dusting, vacuuming or polishing. He had other skills that were being wasted, Fraser frowned to himself. It was as if she enjoyed humiliating her staff and Fraser didn't like that aspect of her personality at all.

Melissa got ready to go to work as Fraser and Turnbull cleaned and tidied, erasing all evidence of her stay and Lieutenant Welsh's. Ray arrived just as Melissa was putting on her coat. "Oh, er, hi," he said awkwardly when he saw her. "Um, did you sleep OK?"

"Yes," she replied a little quietly. "Um, I'll look in on your Dad in my break."

"Yeah, thanks," replied Ray, "Mum told me not to go visit him today. I think they want some time alone. I get that, I'm kinda gettin' under their feet anyway. He can't wait to get outta that place, it's makin' him grouchy."

"I understand how he feels," said Fraser sadly, "I have some experience of an extended stay in hospital and it can be somewhat...frustrating." It had been more than frustrating, it had been mentally debilitating. Fraser tried not to think back to the time after the real Ray Vecchio had accidentally shot him. All he'd wanted to do was to get back on his feet and move on from everything that had happened, but his injuries had prevented him from doing that. He'd lay in bed, staring at the walls, thinking and thinking too much, he'd decided, could be dangerous. The feelings of despair and helplessness had been almost overwhelming and at times he'd had to fight so hard to hold on to any kind of hope.

As Turnbull accompanied Mel to work, Fraser and Ray went into his office. Fraser had realised how bored Ray was since Lieutenant Welsh had insisted he stay away from the Twenty Seventh until the arson case was solved, or at least until his Dad was back on his feet, so as he had some administrative work to do he'd hoped that Ray would appreciate the opportunity to assist him. It might not be the most exciting work in the world, but at least it would give Ray something to do. Fraser logged onto his computer and then vacated the chair so that Ray could sit down. "Yer gonna let me loose on the RCMP computer system?" grinned Ray.

"I trust that you won't stray into anything confidential Ray," replied Fraser seriously. "I'm afraid the task is not terribly exciting, but it would help me greatly if you could cross reference these names with the criminal database."

"Sure, I can do that," shrugged Ray, taking the paperwork from Fraser. "Hey, what's up with Turnbull?"

Fraser frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean Ray?"

"Come on buddy," Ray grinned again now, "either he's, er, constipated or he's got the hots for Mel."

"Perhaps he does have digestive issues?" suggested Fraser, "I'm afraid he has a habit of neglecting his dietary requirements in favour of satisfying Inspector Thatcher's high expectations."

"She treats him like dirt Fraser," noted Ray, "and, er, you too y'know, but hey, ya changed the subject. I hope ya didn't leave Turnbull and Mel alone last night."

"Good lord Ray, Constable Turnbull is only concerned about Melissa's safety," replied Fraser, ignoring Dief's low bark. "As am I."

"OK, if ya say so," replied Ray. "I'm worried about her too y'know," he added.

"Of course you are," frowned Fraser, "I did not suggest otherwise." He paused, watching Ray's face for a moment. "Ray, is there something that you're not telling me? Something with regard to Melissa?"

Ray sighed. He could never keep anything from his buddy for very long, he knew Fraser would ask him what was wrong sooner or later.

"If you'd rather not talk about it Ray..."

"No, it's OK, I, er..." Ray sighed again. "I think we're cool now, but, um, the other day, I was kinda freakin' out about my Dad I guess and...well...I made a move on her...I kissed her."

"Oh," said Fraser.

"Yeah, 'oh' is about right buddy," nodded Ray. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, as you just pointed out yourself Ray, your father's illness has been difficult for you," began Fraser.

"I've been through, er, difficult stuff before, it didn't make me wanna..." Rays voice trailed off. He'd already been over this in his head a hundred times and it still made no sense to him.

"Do you find Melissa attractive?" asked Fraser, hesitantly. She wasn't Ray's usual type, but then he didn't seem to have much luck with his usual type, perhaps now was time for a change?

"Nope. I mean, sure she's a nice girl and I know my folks would be over the moon, but..." Ray tried to think of the best way to explain his feelings, "there's no chemistry, we've got nothin' in common."

"Understood," nodded Fraser. "And you believe that you have smoothed things over with her now?"

"Er, well I guess?" shrugged Ray, "I mean she's still talkin' to me. I'm hopin' she, um, she gets it...y'know."

"She is a very intelligent young lady," said Fraser, "but perhaps you should formally apologise. It might be best to clear the air, so to speak."

"Formally?" exclaimed Ray, "Since when have I ever done anythin' formal?"

"You know what I mean," Fraser replied with his eyebrows raised.

Ray nodded. He knew had to say sorry to her. He just hoped that Turnbull didn't find out, or he might kick Ray in the head. Ray smiled to himself, of course he wouldn't, but he might slap him with a feather duster. Turnbull in love, with a real girl, one who seemed to like him too...well that wasn't something that happened every day.

xXx

That afternoon, Ray was done with RCMP paperwork. "Is this what ya do when you're not endangerin' my life in wildly bizarre ways?" asked Ray.

"Yes," replied Fraser. "Processing visa applications and the like is the core of our work here."

Ray shook his head. "Fraser, you're a cop, a good one..." they walked out into the hallway to find Turnbull sitting at the desk, with the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, looking particularly stressed. Ray glanced at Fraser and nodded towards Turnbull. "Let him do it."

Turnbull noticed them and put the phone down. "Oh Constable Fraser, I didn't want to interrupt you, but Inspector Thatcher has given me the responsibility of ordering the wine for the dinner, she left very specific instructions and I've called almost every wine distributor in Chicago, but had no luck." He was trembling slightly.

"Constable Turnbull, perhaps..." but Fraser didn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence as the telephone rang.

Turnbull leapt on the receiver. "Good afternoon, you've reached the Canadian Consulate, Constable Turnbull speaking, please tell me you have some wine related good news for me...oh, hello Detective Dewey. Yes, he's here."

Turnbull dejectedly passed the phone to Fraser. Fraser listened as Dewey told him that Francesca had found a possible match in their mugbooks for the suspect, using an image taken from the hospital CCTV film. He wanted Melissa to look at it as she'd seen him in person. Fraser suggested they fax the details to the Consulate as Melissa would be returning from work soon.

"D'ya think it's the same guy?" asked Ray, as Fraser put the phone down.

"Detective Dewey suggested that the resemblance was uncanny," replied Fraser, "but until Melissa studies the photograph we can't be sure."

"So the creep could have, er, previous," Ray pondered, "how does his rap sheet read?"

"The person in question has several minor convictions for harassment," Fraser explained.

Turnbull was looking very concerned now, "Perhaps I should have insisted on accompanying Melissa on her journey home?" he said.

"Don't worry, she'll be OK," Ray tried to reassure the younger Mountie, but secretly he was also a little uneasy. He glanced at Fraser, his buddy seemed to be having the same thoughts.

An hour later, Ray and the two Mounties had read the fax Francesca had sent them and were waiting for Mel. They'd been expecting her back about twenty minutes ago, but Fraser suggested that it was probably too soon to worry. Turnbull was clearly worried anyway. Fraser and Ray were getting more uncomfortable with every minute that passed.

Another half an hour passed with no word from Melissa. "I'll call those morons on the Security desk," said Ray, pulling his phone from his pocket, "maybe they saw her leave."

"Or maybe they've seen...him..." Turnbull visibly tensed. He was starting to panic now and he waited nervously as Ray made the call.

After a slightly heated conversation, Ray clicked off his phone. "OK, they've got him on the CCTV comin' in earlier and then leavin', er, a couple hours ago. The jerks didn't spot the creep again."

"What about Melissa?" asked Turnbull urgently.

"They haven't seen her," replied Ray, "but that doesn't mean anythin' Turnbull. Ya heard me tell 'em to go look for her. They said they'd, er, call if they track her down."

"When they track her down," Fraser corrected. He was forcing himself to stay positive. They had no evidence to suggest that anything had happened to Melissa, there was probably a perfectly good explanation for her being late.

"C'mon buddy, I'm not sittin' around here doin' nothin'," said Ray, suddenly leaping to his feet, "let's go to this guy's place."

"For what purpose Ray?" asked Fraser, "and do I need to remind you that you're not meant to be working this case."

"I'm off the arson case," said Ray, "this is a new case, a, er, a missin' persons case. We have a suspect, let's go. Pitter patter!"

Fraser opened his mouth to protest, but Ray was already half way to the front door with Dief at his heels. Well it wouldn't do any harm to go and speak to the man, Fraser thought to himself. "Constable Turnbull, if Melissa returns please contact us on Ray's cellular telephone."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Are ya sure this is the right way?" asked Ray. It felt as though they'd been driving for hours.

"The address we have for Mr Trafford is surprisingly far from the location of the hospital," replied Fraser, "however, looking through the details of his previous convictions it would appear that he has covered a wide area in the past in pursuit of his criminal activities."

"What did Dewey say just now?" asked Ray. Fraser had decided he should inform someone at the Two Seven of the new developments.

"He and Detective Huey intend to join us," replied Fraser and Ray rolled his eyes. "Ray, he is their suspect...and besides, they were threatening to inform Lieutenant Welsh that you had disobeyed his orders," added Fraser, "fortunately the Lieutenant is occupied at this juncture with his brother who is visiting for the festive season." Ray wanted to get there even more quickly now, he could really do without Huey and Dewey showing up.

Eventually they found the address and Ray skidded the GTO to a halt. Fraser, Ray and Dief leapt out of the car and ran into the apartment building. The man's apartment was on the ground floor. "Chicago PD, open the door!" yelled Ray. He glanced at Fraser as they waited for a response. Nothing. "D'ya think he's brought her here?" asked Ray anxiously.

"Ray we have no reason to believe that this man has taken Melissa anywhere, his profile doesn't suggest he would attempt a kidnapping," said Fraser as he knocked loudly. "Mr Trafford, we would like to ask you some questions," he called out. Still nothing.

"Yeah, but his profile doesn't include settin' fire to a trailer knowin' there's someone inside either," Ray glanced at his buddy again as he spoke.

Fraser knew that look. "Ray, we don't have a..." he began in a warning voice, but Ray had already kicked in the front door before he could finish his sentence with the word 'warrant'.

Fraser looked down at Dief and shrugged. It was too late now, so they may as well go in and have a look around. He followed Ray in and they quickly established that there was no one inside. They started to search the apartment, everything looked normal in the living room, ordinary furniture, a TV in the corner, a couple of yellowing family photographs on the fireplace, nothing out of the ordinary.

Fraser went into the main bedroom and began opening drawers. He found underwear and sweaters, the usual things you'd expect to find in bedroom drawers. Then he went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. "Oh dear," he said quietly. Inside were a handful of photographs. He immediately recognised the subject of the one on the top of the pile, it was Melissa. The picture had been taken at the hospital, Mel was in her uniform and was obviously unaware she was being photographed. "Ray," Fraser called, walking out of the bedroom to find his partner, "These are somewhat concerning."

Ray snatched the photographs from Fraser and quickly looked through them. There was another one of Melissa and also pictures of Tammy Hoffman. "Guy's a bastard," sneered Ray, throwing the pictures on the coffee table in disgust. Fraser nodded in agreement.

They went into the kitchen and the first thing they noticed was the empty beer cans. There were four of them scattered on the table and another two on the floor. Beer had spilled all over the table and the smell was quite overpowering to Fraser. He picked up one of the cans and sniffed it. "Hmm," he said, "this receptacle has been opened for less than thirty minutes."

"So we just missed the creep," sighed Ray, he was ready to kick this guy in the head now. He started pacing around the kitchen. "OK, so, er, he was at the hospital a few hours ago, he left there alone..."

"Ray," Fraser said in a low voice.

Ray didn't pay any attention, he was still trying to figure out the man's movements. "Then he, er, he came home and got wasted...so now where is he?"

"Ray..."

"And where's Mel?" Ray shook his head and screwed up his eyes in frustration. "We should..."

"Ray...RAY!" Fraser got his attention this time.

"What?"

"I think you should see this," Fraser's voice was controlled. Ray immediately realised this was something serious and he went over to join Fraser. One of the drawers was open and on the kitchen worktop was a dark blue canvas knife roll, half unrolled, with the black handles of the kitchen knives protruding from the pockets. One of the pockets was empty.

"Jeez," Ray drew a sharp breath as he immediately had the same thought as Fraser.

"Of course we have no solid evidence..." began Fraser.

"C'mon buddy," snapped Ray, "cop instincts! The guy is wasted and now he has a knife. Where the hell is Melissa?"

"Ray, calm down," said Fraser, although he was feeling anything but calm himself. "The CCTV footage showed him leaving the hospital alone."

"So she's still there somewhere and, er, he's goin' back for her!" exclaimed Ray. "C'mon, we gotta get there."

As they ran out of the building and back to the GTO, Fraser noticed a blue car in the parking lot. "That's Trafford's automobile," he said, "the licence plate was in his file."

"Then he's taken the bus maybe," Ray said as he jumped into his car and started the engine, "or he called a cab?"

"He certainly could not have driven himself, he would be far too intoxicated to even attempt it," said Fraser. "Please pass me your cellular telephone."

"Who ya callin'?" asked Ray.

"Assuming the traffic is clear, we are almost an hour away from the hospital," Fraser pointed out, "Constable Turnbull can be there in less than ten minutes." He tapped in the number of the Canadian Consulate and calmly explained the situation to Turnbull. Of course the other Mountie began to get a little hysterical. "Turnbull, we have no reason to assume that anything has happened to her at this juncture," Fraser tried to reassure him, "however I have very little confidence in the hospital security staff so I think you should get there as quickly as you can and attempt to ascertain her whereabouts."

"Call Frannie, get her to put out an APB on this creep," said Ray, but Fraser was already calling the station to do just that.

"Detectives Huey and Dewey are going to assist in searching for him," explained Fraser after he'd spoken to Francesca, "and Francesca is going to contact the local minicab companies to see if anyone has picked up a fare from his address."

Ray nodded and put his foot down. He couldn't imagine Turnbull encountering a drunken weirdo carrying a knife. He knew the guy was a Mountie and he'd had the same training as Fraser, but this was Turnbull, this was the guy who was more likely to tackle a pile of ironing than an armed combatant. On the other hand, he cared a huge amount for Mel, maybe his training would kick in. I just hope we find her before this asshole does, Ray thought, there was no knowing what he was going to do to her.

xXx

Turnbull left the Consulate without word of an explanation to a stunned Inspector Thatcher. He didn't care, he would probably be disciplined, but he didn't care. His career was the last thing he cared about as he ran all the way to the hospital. He raced straight to the Security desk. "Nurse McIntyre...Melissa McIntyre," he was hardly out of breath, "have you found her yet?"

"Jeez what is it with you Mounties?" answered the Security guard on duty, "I already told the other one that your suspect left here on his own, he hasn't got her OK? So cool your jets!"

"Cool my...my what?" Turnbull was as angry as he'd ever been. "Sir, I have no idea as to what you are referring," he began, fighting for composure, "but I will not be cooling anything until Melissa is found safe and well. There is a malfeasant most likely on his way here now with the intention of causing her harm. I..." he stood up straighter and puffed out his chest, "I will not allow that to happen. Either you and your colleagues assist in the search or I will search alone, but I will find her."

The Security guard laughed. Pompous moron, he thought to himself. "Look Mountie," he said dismissively, "you do whatever you like man, but I'm staying right here."

Turnbull was fuming now. His mouth opened and closed three times, but he couldn't find the words to express himself. Instead he turned and ran towards the stairs. His heart was pounding. What if he couldn't find her, what if nobody ever found her? He was all too aware of the statistics, he knew how many people disappeared without any explanation and were never seen again...or worse than that...Turnbull stopped running and swallowed hard. What if he was too late? What if the guy had already got there...he had a weapon, he was inebriated, what if...

Turnbull forced himself to stop thinking about all the dreadful possibilities. He had to focus on searching for Melissa. Suddenly he felt a little overwhelmed, there were so many places she could be in the building, he didn't really know where to start. He stood on the spot and looked from left to right, he wished Fraser was here now, he'd know exactly what to do. He saw a payphone attached to the wall and ran over to it, fishing a quarter from his pocket. He picked up the receiver, dialled Ray's number and heard Fraser's voice answer. "Sir, it's me...it's Constable Turnbull...I'm here," he garbled, "I'm not sure...that is, I mean..."

"Turnbull, try to remain calm and focussed," urged Fraser, he could hear the panic in the younger Mountie's voice, "Ray and I will be there as soon as we can, but we're going to be a while yet I'm afraid."

"Alright," Turnbull replied with determination, "I'm going to start looking in all the rooms."

"That's an excellent idea," replied Fraser. "Please telephone me again if you have any further news."

Turnbull saluted at the telephone and replaced the receiver. He knew he was a good Police officer, he was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, if he couldn't deal with this then he didn't deserve to be wearing the uniform he was so proud of. He just needed to calm down and proceed with a methodical and thorough search. He took a deep breath and began opening doors.

xXx

"Turnbull's freaking out isn't he," said Ray as Fraser clicked off the phone. "Goddamn stupid traffic!" He thumped his hand three times on the steering wheel in frustration.

"Constable Turnbull is understandably concerned about Melissa's wellbeing at this juncture," replied Fraser, adding, "as am I."

They continued their journey, hoping with each minute that passed that Turnbull would call to say he'd found Melissa and that her apparent disappearance had been a misunderstanding. It felt like forever before the phone finally rang. "Constable Turnbull?" Fraser said anxiously.

"Sir, I...I can't find her. I searched all the private rooms and staff areas, everywhere on the first floor where she was working today," explained Turnbull, rubbing his hand across his eyes as he tried to think, "so I...I don't know what to do now?"

Fraser realised that Turnbull was just looking for some reassurance and encouragement. He didn't really need to ask what to do next, but he was there alone and he wasn't used to active fieldwork. "Downstairs," said Fraser calmly, "you need to search downstairs now."

"Yes...oh yes, of course," replied Turnbull. "Right, I'll do that now Sir. Thank you."

"Keep searching Constable, you're doing everything right," encouraged Fraser.

The phone went dead and Fraser braced his elbow against the car door, tapping his fingertips on his lips pensively. He wished they weren't so far from the hospital, he felt completely helpless. Turnbull was doing his best, he wasn't really as hapless as people seemed to think, he was good at his job, Inspector Thatcher would have got rid of him by now if he wasn't. He was a good Mountie, but this was different, this had become personal. Turnbull cared a lot about Mel, he'd developed very strong feelings for her in the last few days and that had probably taken him as much by surprise as it had Fraser. Fraser hoped his younger colleague could clear his mind enough to concentrate on the search.

Ray glanced at his buddy. He could see how worried Fraser was and he was feeling the same. He was really hoping Turnbull would have found her now, every minute that passed meant less and less chance of finding her. "How's Turnbull holdin' up?" he asked quietly.

"He's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances," replied Fraser. He trusted Turnbull to do the job properly, he knew that the other Mountie would not leave an inch of that hospital unsearched. Fraser clutched Ray's phone in his hand, willing it to ring again, he was trying desperately hard to remain optimistic. They had almost reached the hospital before it finally rang again.

"Constable Fraser, there's a...there's a closet, it's locked," Turnbull was on another payphone and he sounded quite out of breath now, "I've searched everywhere else, do you think she could be in there?"

"I have no idea," replied Fraser, trying not to take out his frustrations on Turnbull. "It is, however, a possibility. Is there anyone there who could get you a key?"

"A key, a key..." muttered Turnbull, looking around the empty corridor, "I don't know? It's a janitor's closet, there's no one around."

Suddenly Fraser had an idea. "Turnbull, try paging Melissa. If she still has her pager about her person then you'll hear it."

"OK," replied Turnbull, nodding furiously, even though no one could see him. Then his face fell. "Oh, but I don't know her pager number?"

"I think I do," replied Fraser. He closed his eyes and recalled the seven digit number.

Turnbull immediately memorised it himself. "If she's in the closet, I'm...I'm going to gain entry forcibly Sir," he said and put the phone down. He was shaking now. Melissa could very well be in that closet and she hadn't answered when he'd called out her name. He couldn't bear to think about what he might find in there.

"Jeez, how did ya know Mel's pager number?" asked Ray

"The other day when we first encountered Melissa in a professional capacity, while visiting your father in the hospital, I happened to notice she had handwritten the number on a label attached to the device," explained Fraser. Ray was amazed at his buddy's memory skills. Ray could barely remember what he had for breakfast. Fraser looked seriously at Ray. "I just hope it helps," he said in a low voice.

Turnbull quickly tapped out the number Fraser had given him and followed the pre-recorded instructions. The message he sent was irrelevant, he simply wanted to use the gadget as a tracking device of sorts. His drew a sharp breath as he heard the distinct beeping sound of a pager. He ran to the locked door and pressed his ear to it and finally let his breath go as he realised the sound was definitely coming from inside.

"Melissa!" he called out. "Melissa, if you can hear me, please move away from the door." He took a step back and hesitated for the briefest of moments, gathering his thoughts and his strength, before kicking hard at the door, letting out a short grunt as he did so. He had to kick it again and then throw all his weight at it with his shoulder before the door finally burst open. There she was, slumped against the wall, surrounded by buckets and mops. Her eyes were closed and Turnbull could see a line of blood trickling down her face. "Oh my..." he rushed over to her and anxiously pressed two fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse. As he felt the beat beneath his fingers he was finally able to breathe a tiny sigh of relief, but he could see that she was hurt. "Melissa, it's me..." he tried to rouse her.

She blinked open her eyes, but she couldn't focus. "Mmmm..." she moaned. Every bone in her body ached. "T...Turnbull?" she wasn't sure if he was really there or not? "My...pager..." she tried to reach for her belt, but a pain shot through her arm as she attempted to move it.

"Oh, it's nobody," said Turnbull, he'd almost forgotten that it was still beeping loudly. He quickly pulled it from her belt and stopped the noise. "Where are you hurt?" he asked, fishing in the pouch on his belt for his handkerchief and pressing it to the cut on her forehead.

"Everywhere," whispered Melissa. "He...he..."

"Sshhh," soothed Turnbull, "don't try to talk. I'll get help." He raced back to the payphone in the hall and fed another quarter into it. "Constable Fraser, it's Constable Turnbull again," he said. "I've found her, she's alright."

Fraser could tell immediately that he had good news before he'd got as far as explaining because Turnbull had started to use his more usual, formal speech patterns again. He let out a sigh of relief and nodded to Ray who was just throwing the GTO into a space outside the hospital. Ray nodded in return, he should never have doubted Turnbull's abilities.

"She's hurt," Turnbull continued, "what should I do?"

"You're in a hospital Turnbull," he replied, "take her to a doctor. We'll be with you in a matter of minutes now."

"Oh yes, yes of course," replied Turnbull. "A doctor, of course. Thank you for all of your assistance Sir, I don't think I could have..."

"Turnbull," Fraser shook his head, now that he knew Melissa was safe he finally allowed himself to be a little exasperated with Turnbull. "Melissa is in need of medical attention, we'll discuss this later."

xXx

"Mmmnnn..." Melissa couldn't help the noise she made as Turnbull gently lowered her onto the huge bed in the Queen's Bedroom at the Consulate.

"Do you require further pain medication?" asked Turnbull anxiously.

"No...no I'm OK," Melissa tried to smile. Turnbull hadn't left her side since he'd rescued her. "I think I'd just like to sleep now...if I can..."

"You're so lucky that you didn't suffer more serious injuries," Turnbull smiled back.

"Just bruising," she nodded. She knew how lucky she'd been, she'd never been so scared in her life before and she'd been convinced she was going to die in that closet. That was before Turnbull burst in and saved her. "I can't get the image of the guy's face out of my head," she half whispered.

"I'm so sorry..." Turnbull didn't know what else to say as she collapsed in tears in his arms. "Sshhh," he tried to soothe her, but he knew she had to let this out now. He still didn't fully understand what had happened. Melissa hadn't really been able to explain without becoming distraught. All they did know was that Trafford had been in Tammy Hoffman's room again and, as scared as she'd been, Mel had confronted him. This time he'd become angry and grabbed her and she'd fallen and hit her head. The next thing she remembered was being in the closet, aware that she'd sustained further injuries and she'd drifted in and out of consciousness until Turnbull had found her. Fraser had suggested it was best not to tell her yet that Trafford had most likely been on his way back to her, armed with a knife. Melissa was very shaken up and there was no need for her to know that information at this time.

Crying was hurting her ribs and Melissa was so tired so she fought to regain her composure and pulled herself slowly from Turnbull's arms. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I assure you there is no need to apologise," Turnbull assured her. "Would you like to...um...talk about it?" He knew it was probably too soon, but he didn't know what else to do? Fraser and Ray had left to join the search for Trafford as soon as they'd seen that Mel was OK and Inspector Thatcher had left for the evening, so he and Melissa were alone. He felt an overwhelming need to look after her physical and emotional wellbeing.

Melissa shook her head slowly. "I just want to forget it ever happened," she sniffed.

"I know," replied Turnbull. He wished it had never happened, he'd never forget discovering her locked in that closet and those few heartstopping moments when he didn't know if she was alive or dead. "Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio will find this man and he will be brought to justice, but in the meantime please be assured that you are safe here with me."

Mel mustered a smile. "I know, thank you," she said quietly. Turnbull fussed for a few more minutes, fetching her a glass of water, a second blanket and another pillow, then he went to leave the room. "No," Melissa cried out, "please don't go."

Turnbull gasped. "I...I...but..." he stammered and then he saw the tears forming in her eyes again. "Of course I won't," he said and he slipped his hand into hers and settled himself in the comfy chair.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"How hard can it be to track down a drunk bastard with a knife?" Ray was getting really frustrated. He and Fraser had been driving around for hours. None of the local cab companies had remembered picking up a man matching Trafford's description, but that wasn't conclusive proof that he hadn't got into a cab, or he could be on foot.

Fraser glanced at his watch. "Considering the amount of alcohol he has apparently consumed, it's not inconceivable that he is sleeping it off somewhere."

Ray thought about it for a moment. "Let's go back to his place again," he said. "We've got uniforms crawlin' all over the city now. C'mon, if he's not there maybe we can, er, get some other clue? Maybe we missed somethin' earlier?"

Fraser agreed with his partner, they had no idea where Trafford could be so returning to his apartment seemed like a good idea. They quickly headed back to the address and Ray drew his gun as they approached the door, keeping it pointing at the door. "Ray, I can hear activity inside," whispered Fraser.

Ray nodded and knocked loudly on the door. To their surprise the door opened and a dishevelled, bleary eyed man stood there staring at them. "What?" he said.

"Jimmy Trafford?" asked Ray, "Chicago PD." Ray pushed his jacket aside, displaying his badge that was clipped to his belt. Ray and Fraser braced themselves for Trafford to try to slam the door in their faces and after a moment's hesitation he didn't disappoint them. Fraser was able to wedge his foot in the doorway before it closed and they ran into the apartment after the man with Dief barking loudly. Fortunately the man was in no fit state to run anywhere. Ray grabbed his shoulder and pushed him to his knees. "Hands behind your head, now!" yelled Ray, aiming his gun at the man. Trafford reluctantly complied.

"What have I done now?" Trafford yelled back, "why can't you people leave me alone?"

Ray really wanted to kick this guy in the head, did he have no idea why they were here? "Last time I checked tryin' to kill someone was a good enough reason," he spat. "You're under arrest for, er, the attempted murders of Melissa McIntyre and Tamara Hoffman," began Ray and Fraser allowed himself to finally relax as his partner read the man his rights.

xXx

Fraser pushed open the heavy oak door of the Consulate building as quietly as he could. It was very late, Trafford was being uncooperative to say the least and Ray had decided a night in the cells to sleep off the rest of the beer might improve his memory. Ray had gone straight home to be with his mother and now Fraser and Dief crept across the tiled floor, hoping that they didn't wake Melissa. Dief stopped in front of the Christmas tree and growled. "Oh for goodness sake," hissed Fraser, "you're an arctic wolf, not a cat. I realise there are shiny things, but...oh hello Dad." Fraser should have known that something other than the decorations had distracted Diefenbaker.

"Son," Bob Fraser stepped fully into view, "good work today."

"I really didn't do anything," replied Fraser, "Constable Turnbull, however, has surpassed all of our expectations."

"He certainly surprised me," acknowledged Bob, "I hope that dragon of an Inspector of yours gives him the credit he deserves."

Fraser nodded. He wasn't sure what Inspector Thatcher was going to say? Turnbull had gone into a potentially dangerous situation without authorisation or back up. However, he had rescued a young woman and if he hadn't got there in time, well, he didn't want to think about what might have happened. "I will take full responsibility if there's any suggestion of insubordination," said Fraser, "and I'll be making an official recommendation that he is considered for a commendation."

"The girl was very lucky," said Bob.

"I'm not sure that Melissa would agree with you at this juncture," Fraser pointed out, "but I do agree with you. The statistics are..." but he fell silent as Turnbull appeared, tip toeing down the stairs. "Ah, Constable Turnbull, I was just...er, that is I was just telling Diefenbaker about, er...anyway, how is Melissa?"

"She is sleeping, if a little restless," replied Turnbull, "she became less agitated once I was able to inform her that the perpetrator is now in custody."

Fraser nodded. Just then they heard cries coming from upstairs. "Oh dear," said Fraser sadly as Turnbull ran up the stairs. It sounded to Fraser like the combination of a distressing nightmare and physical pain. He allowed Turnbull ten minutes to do what he could before heading upstairs himself. He slowly pushed open the bedroom door to find Melissa sitting up in bed holding both of Turnbull's hands as she tried to regain her composure. "Is everything alright?" asked Fraser quietly.

Mel hadn't heard him come in and was startled by the voice. "Oh, yes, I'm...I'm...it was just a dream." She tried to take some deep breaths, but they were still coming erratically and each gasp was causing her ribs to ache.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you," said Fraser gently, tugging at his earlobe

"Tea," said Turnbull suddenly, releasing Mel's hands and jumping to his feet. "I'll make tea." He began heading towards the door.

"Turnbull, I'll make it," said Fraser, nodding towards Melissa who was trembling slightly. "Stay here. I have a blend in mind that should assist with your pain Melissa, as well as having calming properties."

Turnbull went back to Melissa's side and Fraser went to the kitchen. Diefenbaker trotted along behind him, hoping that there might be some food on offer. As Fraser waited for the water to boil, Dief began sniffing at the fridge door. "It's late Dief," said Fraser, "you really shouldn't eat at this hour. I suggest you settle down for the night."

Dief barked a reply.

"I will, as soon as I've taken this tea to Melissa," replied Fraser. "It appears that Constable Turnbull will also staying here again tonight."

Dief gave up hope of food and yapped at Fraser.

"Please don't be so disrespectful," scolded Fraser, "Turnbull is not an idiot. He is a Mountie. I think he's more than proven himself today, don't you agree?"

Dief reluctantly had to agree. Turnbull had surprised everyone, the wolf would perhaps look slightly differently at him from now on, until the next time he picked up a feather duster anyway.

xXx

Melissa clung tightly to Turnbull's arm as they walked up the stairs to the squad room. Fraser and Diefenbaker followed closely behind, Dief's protective instincts had come to the fore after Fraser had gone over some of the details with him about what Melissa had been through. He still wasn't exactly sure what to make of Turnbull though. The younger Mountie had been up and about at the crack of dawn, busying himself in the kitchen making breakfast. Then he'd thrown himself into rearranging the furniture in the main reception room. The VIP dinner was tomorrow and, assuming Inspector Thatcher wasn't going to suspend him today, he wanted everything to go smoothly. The reputation of the Consulate was at stake and he wasn't going to let the Inspector, or Constable Fraser down. Dief couldn't care less about that, he'd just wanted to go back to sleep. For a half deaf wolf, his hearing was disappointingly sharp sometimes, he thought.

"Do you want me to go over what to expect again?" Fraser asked as they walked through the door. Francesca flashed him a smile as they passed her desk.

"No, I'm OK, all I have to do is pick him out from the line up, I can do that," replied Mel, in a slightly shaky voice, "as long as you promise he won't be able to see me."

"I promise," Fraser assured her, "it is a two way mirror, he will be unaware of your presence."

Mel nodded, she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. She knew she had to identify him and she wasn't worried about picking the wrong guy, his face would be etched on her brain forever she feared, but she was terrified of actually seeing him again. The more she thought about it, the more the pain in her head intensified. She was aware that Ray was there now, he was talking to her, but she wasn't really hearing him. Now it was Fraser's voice she could hear. He was saying her name, but she couldn't answer him. She was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. The next thing she remembered was sitting in a chair and Fraser was holding a plastic cup of water to her lips. "Melissa?" his voice was more concerned now.

She took a sip of water and a deep breath. "Did I faint?" she asked.

"No," smiled Fraser.

"Ya kinda zoned out on us," explained Ray.

"Oh," replied Mel, quietly.

"If you're OK now, I think, er, they're ready for ya," added Ray.

"She's not ready," said Turnbull. He was quite agitated. "She needs to rest."

"I'm fine," replied Mel, feeling stronger with every passing second. "I just want to get this over with." She gingerly got to her feet, trying to ignore the aching in her side. The bruising had all come out overnight and she was now an unsightly shade of yellowy purple over most of her body. Fraser had given her some ointment to use which had eased her discomfort slightly and she was very grateful for that.

She hesitated slightly before entering the room. Knowing the man was in the next room was so difficult for her and then when she saw him again, even though it was through glass, she felt as though she was going to vomit. Ray had a firm, supportive hold of her arm though and she was very grateful for that. The other four men in the line up looked nothing like him, she thought to herself. Only he had those eyes, the cold, evil eyes that had pierced through her as she'd tried to fight him off. She could still remember how his hands had felt as they'd grasped her arms tightly while she struggled. She could still remember the noise he'd made as he'd kicked her as she lay on the floor, curled into a ball, trying to protect herself. She took a deep breath and made a clear identification and Ray got her out of there as quickly as possible.

"Are ya OK?" he asked as they headed back to his desk to find Fraser and Turnbull. Mel just nodded. "Er, look, I know this probably isn't a good time," said Ray, hesitantly, "but I, er, I just wanted to, er, say sorry for, er, y'know, the other day."

Mel smiled at him. She was grateful for the chance to talk about something different for a few minutes. "It's OK, don't worry about it," she said, "I've already forgotten about it. I know you weren't trying to...I mean, I know you didn't mean to..." she couldn't think of an appropriate word to finish her sentence, so she just giggled.

Ray laughed too. "Yeah, exactly," he said, "I, er, I'm sorry anyway."

"Apology accepted," she replied. When they got back to Ray's desk they were surprised to find Turnbull alone. He explained that Fraser was talking to Lieutenant Welsh in his office.

Just then Tom Dewey walked over to them. "Hey Turnbull," he grinned at the Mountie, "so you're a big hero now, huh?"

Turnbull blushed hard. "I...er, I...well, um..." he stammered.

"You saved my life," Mel said quietly, linking her arm through his.

"No...I, er..." Turnbull still couldn't speak, "I really didn't...I..."

"C'mon," Ray gave him a friendly punch on the arm, "y'were pretty good out there, kickin' in doors...I didn't know ya had it in ya."

Turnbull shrugged and looked coyly at Mel. Truth was he didn't know he had it in him either. "Thank you Detectives," he said, quietly, but proudly. He'd always avoided fieldwork as much as possible, perhaps he'd never even admitted that to himself before, but it was true. He was more efficient at the administrative side of Police work. When it came to processing paperwork and even researching information on cases Fraser was working on with the Chicago PD, he knew he could do that. Sometimes he got flustered and screwed things up of course, but maybe from now on things might be different? No matter how urgent a piece of information was, finding out whatever Fraser or the Inspector needed was never going to be as difficult or stressful as the search for Melissa. Perhaps all the housework and errands Inspector Thatcher made him do were beneath him, but he had been prepared to stand up to an armed man to protect Melissa so maybe from now on he could stand up to the Inspector to protect his own dignity? Well, occasionally anyway...of course if the dusting really needed doing then...Turnbull sighed to himself and smiled at Mel. Maybe he wouldn't change, but for that one day, for those few terrifying hours, he'd made a difference, he'd saved a life and he would never, ever forget how that felt.

"Maybe you'll get a Mountie medal or something?" Dewey was only half joking with him and it made Turnbull blush even more.

Dewey went back to his desk and Ray looked over his shoulder towards Lieutenant Welsh's office, he wanted Fraser to help him type up the report, but he was still in there with Welsh. Ray had only been back in the Two Seven for one morning, but he knew something was up with his Lieutenant. The last time he'd seen him, Welsh had been acting strangely, even more grouchy than normal, even more short tempered. Welsh had a reputation for being fair, behind the somewhat surly front he put on, but this was something different and Ray had no idea what was wrong. Something told him that Fraser knew what was going on though, his buddy had deliberately avoided talking about Welsh the other day when Ray had brought up the subject. He respected that Fraser would never break the Lieutenant's confidence so he figured he'd have to stay in the dark. This morning, however, Welsh had been totally different. He'd been happy, that was definitely unusual. He'd been laughing at Dewey's jokes and joking and smiling with Francesca, it had all been quite disturbing for Ray.

Inside Welsh's office, Fraser was nodding and smiling as the Lieutenant explained what had happened since his brother Wilson had arrived the day before. "I told him everything," said Welsh, "I couldn't explain why I was living in a motel without lying to him otherwise. Anyway, he surprised me Constable, he immediately went to speak to my wife. I dunno know what he said to her, but she wanted to see me and then she said she wanted me to move back home. Maybe my brother isn't quite the moron I thought he was?" he added with half a smile. Then his face fell again. "My wife and I still have a lotta things to talk about I guess..." his voice trailed off. "I can't say I'm looking forward to that."

"Understood Sir," nodded Fraser. Welsh was like Fraser's father in so many ways, he thought and talking in depth to his wife about his feelings for her must be quite an unattractive prospect for him.

"There are a lotta things I need to say to her, things I shoulda said a long time ago...that old Mountie friend of yours made me realise that," Welsh added.

"Who Sir?" for a moment Fraser had no idea who he was talking about, then he remembered his father's somewhat inexplicable man to man chat with the Lieutenant. "Oh yes, well occasionally he does have some very good advice."

"Constable, about what happened the other day, I..." Lieutenant Welsh.

"We need never speak of it again Sir," Fraser assured him.

"Thank you Fraser. So all I need now is to get some of these scumbags outta my station and into jail and I'll be a very happy man," Welsh scowled as he spoke.

Fraser nodded in agreement. "Melissa McIntyre has positively identified Trafford as her attacker," he said, "I believe he's with his lawyer now."

"Well after we found those gas cans at his place earlier he's not got a hope in hell of squirming his way out of any of the charges," smiled Welsh, "no matter how slimy his lawyer is. I'll call Assistant States Attorney Kowalski, she already has the file."

"Arson, abduction, two counts of attempted murder," Fraser listed aloud, "I imagine he will be incarcerated for many Christmasses to come."

"I hope so Constable, I hope so," Welsh nodded. "So tell me, they say Turnbull's the hero in all this? That true?"

"It certainly is," Fraser confirmed, "he has proven he is a more than capable member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Well I never thought I'd see the day," grinned Welsh, "And Thatcher has given him a pat on the back I hope?"

"Ah," Fraser's face fell, "well, not exactly Sir, in fact she has kept rather quiet on the issue so far, it is a little...disconcerting, truth be told."

Welsh laughed. "Well if you need me to put in a good word, just yell," replied Welsh.

"Thank you kindly Sir," nodded Fraser, "Constable Turnbull will appreciate your support."

"Anyway, I'm outta here," said Welsh suddenly, "I'm taking a few days off, I can't remember the last time I didn't work over the holidays. Wilson said he's gonna take himself sightseeing, give my wife and I some time alone."

"That's very thoughtful of him Sir," smiled Fraser. "Well in that case, I wish you and your family a very Merry Christmas."

"And Merry Christmas to you too, Constable."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Er, thanks for comin' with me Mel, Mum said she didn't want to see it like this," Ray stood in the blackened remains of his parents' motorhome, surveying the damage. It looked worse than he remembered it. He sighed and picked up a commemorative mug with the words 'Reno Rodeo, Nevada' stamped on it. He didn't even know they'd been to Nevada?

"It's no trouble," smiled Mel, "I couldn't stay at the Consulate today, they have that big VIP dinner, Turnbull was panicking about napkins when I left."

Ray laughed. "Yeah, Fraser called this mornin' to ask my Mum somethin' about flowers, I guess the Ice Queen was hasslin' 'em both. Canadians need to learn to, er, chill."

Mel laughed too. "Mounties..." she rolled her eyes.

"Gotta love 'em though," grinned Ray. Mel blushed and looked away. Ray's grin grew wider. He was starting to get used to the idea of Mel and Turnbull, it wasn't as if they were dating, but they were cute together. He had no idea where Turnbull would take a girl on a date anyway, somewhere weird probably.

"So, where should we start?" asked Mel, deliberately changing the subject. "I think we should make two piles, one for things that are salvageable and one for the badly damaged stuff."

"Yeah," agreed Ray. He picked up a silver frame and looked at the photograph in it sadly. "This is their weddin' photo," he said quietly. "They couldn't afford much, Mum made her own dress and they went to this tiny chapel...er, I think the priest did the service for free, my grandpop had to fix a wall for him in return, or, er, somethin' like that. You'll have to ask my Mum."

Mel smiled, she really liked the Kowalski's, they were honest, hard working people. They'd obviously never been rich, but they were happy. It was such a shame that there was this...whatever it was...between Ray and his Dad. Just then something slipped out from behind the photograph and fell to the floor. Mel picked it up before Ray had a chance. It was another photograph. "Is this you?" she asked, passing it to Ray.

Ray felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at the picture. "Yeah," he couldn't speak for a moment. Why had his mum hidden this particular one? It was of Ray and his Dad, Ray was about fourteen, maybe fifteen and they were working on the GTO. Ray's GTO, the one he drove now, the one his father had kept all this time, for all the years they'd barely spoken to each other. The young Ray had a huge streak of grease running down the side of his face and his Dad's overalls we're filthy. Ray remembered how his Mum used to make him take them off before he came inside. "Jeez, look at my hair," he laughed, it was the only thing he could think of to say, he had no words for what he was feeling.

"Did your Mum used to cut it for you?" asked Mel. Ray's hair was certainly not as well coiffed in his teenage years as it is now, she thought to herself.

"Yeah," replied Ray. "Hey, it was the Seventies," he added, "it was, er, cool to have weird, long hair back then."

Mel laughed. She couldn't imagine Turnbull or Fraser having hair like that at that time at all. Ray tucked the photograph in his back pocket and they carried on sorting through the mess.

It took a couple of hours before they started to make any real headway, Ray couldn't believe his folks had so much stuff in their tiny home. He knew they'd been in Arizona for several years, but he hadn't realised just how many other places they'd visited too. I guess Mum didn't have time to tell me everything when she called, he thought to himself. He realised she'd have been using a payphone each time, it must have cost her a fortune. Why couldn't he have been the one to fix all this years ago? He hung his head, all those years of wasted time and he could have been the one to reach out to his Dad, he could have mended the damage, but something had stopped him. Pride? Was that it? Stubbornness? Maybe, or sheer stupidity.

Mel glanced over to him, she was getting used to having him as a friend now, she was starting to realise that he was an emotional guy, he acted on impulse. Of course sometimes those actions were inappropriate, but mostly he was just very easy to read. Right now he was clearly upset. "Ray?" she asked gently, "are you OK?"

Ray looked up and forced a smile. "Yeah, sure," he lied. "It's just, er, this is tough, y'know."

Mel nodded. Of course it was, seeing anyone's home in this state was going to be difficult, let alone your own parents', but she had a feeling it wasn't quite that simple. "Ray," she said again, using her most empathetic voice, "what happened?" She took a sharp breath as his head snapped up and he looked directly at her. "What happened between you and your Dad?" she bravely continued, "I guess it must have been something really bad." Suddenly she regretted starting this, she had no idea what had caused them to fall out so badly and maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it. Perhaps it was one of those things that was so awful that it was best that everyone tried to forget about it. "I'm...I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ray smiled. "It's OK," he said, "er, actually, um..." he stopped to compose himself. "What happened was...was that I became a cop." Mel frowned, she didn't understand at all. "Yeah, I know," Ray continued, "I don't get it either. I guess I, er, disappointed him. He wanted me to work in a meat packin' place."

"Meat packing?" Mel repeated slowly. "Why didn't he want you to join the Police?"

Ray shrugged.

"You mean, you've never asked him?" Mel was shocked.

Ray shook his head. "We just don't talk about it...well, we didn't talk about very much of anythin' for years. Now...I, er..."

"You could ask him now couldn't you?" suggested Mel, "I think you have a right to know."

"Nah," Ray shook his head again, "I don't, he's my Dad..." his voice trailed off as if that was enough of an explanation.

Mel decided not to push him any further on the subject. Just then a gust of wind slammed the door shut. Mel leapt up, screaming and ran to the door. Her trembling hands grabbed hold of the handle and shook it hard. "No! No!"

Immediately Ray was beside her. "Hey, it's OK, it's OK," he said, placing one hand on the small of her back and gently moving her hands aside. "Look, ya just gotta twist...and lift," he added, taking the handle and quickly opening the door, pushing it wide open. "See, it wasn't locked or anythin'."

"Oh god, I thought...I thought..." Mel was gasping for air now and she felt dizzy.

"I know," Ray pulled her into a hug. "It's OK...you're OK, you're safe." He really felt for her, it was to be expected that she'd have flashbacks after everything that had happened to her, her nerves would be shot and it could be a long time before she started to get over that. "Come on," he said and slowly led her out of the motorhome, sitting her down on the bottom step and settling beside her with his arm tightly around her shoulders. "Just breathe Mel."

"I'm sorry," she replied, trying her best to do as he said, "for a minute there..." she closed her eyes.

"Hey, ya don't have to be sorry," he smiled, "it's gonna take time."

Mel nodded. Her breathing was slowing now and she started to feel a little more normal again. "He did this to me," she whispered, "he made me like this." She turned her head into Ray's shoulder and began to weep.

"Sshhh," Ray tried to soothe her, "y'know, it's OK to be angry, just, er, let it all out on my shoulder, it's pretty pourable."

Mel managed a small laugh and lifted her tear stained face. "I think you mean porous," she smiled.

"Or, er, yeah," Ray replied. Mel collapsed into his shoulder again and they sat like that in the freezing air until she was all out of tears.

xXx

"Thank you so much Assistant Commissioner, have a safe journey home," Inspector Thatcher saluted as the last of their guests left the Consulate and got into the waiting cab. As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, she closed the door and slumped with her back against it. "Thank god that's over," she let out a huge sigh of relief and pulled the paper party hat from her head. The elastic had left a slightly red mark under her chin and she rubbed at it with the back of her hand.

"Indeed," agreed Fraser, taking the Inspector's hat from her and removing his own brightly coloured one too. "If I may say so Sir, I believe that the Assistant Commissioner and his associates enjoyed their time here, I'd like to be the first to congratulate you on a very successful evening."

Inspector Thatcher stood a little straighter and smiled. "Well, thank you Fraser," she said. She rubbed again underneath her chin. "Damn those stupid hats," she muttered.

Fraser pulled some powdered horn from his pocket and in an instant he was applying it gently to the soreness. Thatcher gasped at his touch. "Oh..." She let him finish, her tongue darting out to coat her suddenly dry lips as he worked. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome, I ..." Fraser began, but then he caught the look in her eyes and stopped. It was happening again, he realised. His face flushed slightly with colour and his throat tightened as his mind raced. This was so wrong, he knew that, but he was aware that he was beginning to lose control of himself... again. He could tell by the look on her face that she was having the same feelings and they locked their gaze, frozen in the moment.

Then Thatcher tilted her head slightly and leaned in. "Merry Christmas..." she breathed. Fraser's lips parted, he brought one hand up to cradle the side of her face and...

"Sir! Sir!" Turnbull came running out into the hall and Fraser and Thatcher immediately broke apart.

"Turnbull!" exclaimed the Inspector, almost tripping over her own feet as she tried to put as much distance between herself and Fraser as she could.

"Whatever's the matter?" asked Fraser, rather more harshly than normal. He cleared his throat and tugged at the starched collar of his tunic with one finger.

Turnbull held up a tiny earring between his thumb and forefinger. "Sir, I found this on one of the plates, it's Chief Superintendent McAllister's, I noticed her wearing them...not that I was staring at her ears you understand, or any part of her, that would be most inappropriate...not that I'm suggesting at all that she's unattractive, actually I thought she was aesthetically pleasing..."

"Turnbull stop blithering!" Inspector Thatcher had to raise her voice a little to stop the young Constable.

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir," he grovelled. "But what shall I do with this earring? I only carried out a cursory inspection, but I can confirm it is eighteen carat gold and set with a nice, if slightly flawed ruby, although the setting is..."

"Turnbull!" the Inspector yelled at him now. "Give it to me," she said a little more quietly and she snatched the jewellery from his hand. "I'll arrange to have it couriered to her hotel." Then she took a breath and turned to Fraser. "Here," she said, thrusting the earring towards his startled face. "Call a courier company, I'm trusting you to reunite the Chief Superintendent with this," she snapped.

"Yes Sir," nodded Fraser, taking it from her. His hand hovered near to hers for longer than was necessary and she caught his look. Neither of them could explain what had just happened, or at least what had almost just happened. Contact...it had happened before and they'd both agreed that it should never happen again, except that's exactly what came close to happening so often.

The Inspector suddenly snatched her hand away and her eyes became glassy. "And if you fail, you'll be directing traffic on Baffin Island before this year is over," she said. Of course in reality the last thing she wanted to do was to send Fraser anywhere, not while there was all of this...whatever it was between them that needed to be resolved, or acted upon, or whatever they were meant to do with it. So Baffin Island was mentioned again. It wasn't the first time she'd threatened her junior officers with the prospect of a transfer there. Actually she'd never been anywhere near the place herself, but it sounded horrible, freezing all year round and it was vast, yet sparsely populated. It sounded like hell on earth to her.

Fraser, however, had the opposite view and if one day he somehow upset the Inspector so much that she carried out her threat, he'd decided a long time ago that there were far worse places he could end his career...like Toronto. He headed towards his office to find the number for the courier, when he heard Inspector Thatcher speak to Turnbull again.

"In my office," she said and a suddenly nervous Turnbull followed her in, closing the door behind them.

"Oh dear," muttered Fraser to Dief. The wolf whined. The Inspector had avoided the subject of Turnbull's actions since it had all happened, instead concerning herself with the VIP dinner. Now the evening was over, she had no choice but to deal with the situation. Fraser started to walk back along the hall, but Dief stopped him with a bark. "But I can't leave poor Turnbull alone with her," replied Fraser, "maybe if I vouch for him the outcome might be more favourable? After all, he wasn't acting entirely alone."

Dief whined again.

"That has nothing to do with it," snapped Fraser, "Inthatcher Spector and I...I mean, Inspector Thatcher and I..." he stopped and sighed. Why did he always get so flustered when this subject was raised. He took a deep breath and continued calmly. "Well, there is no "Inspector Thatcher and I", for one thing," he said, miming quotation marks in the air with his fingers for emphasis, "so you can clear your dirty mind. Thank you kindly."

Dief turned and went to lay on Fraser's bed while Fraser waited discretely in the hall, listening in to the conversation in the Inspector's office.

"Constable Turnbull," began the Inspector.

"Yes Sir," replied Turnbull, "I agree with everything you say."

"I haven't said anything yet?" Inspector Thatcher shook her head, this was going to be a difficult conversation.

"I'm sorry Sir," added Turnbull. He was ready for this. He'd been expecting this ever since he rushed off that day looking for Melissa. He had no jurisdiction for a start and he'd run straight into a potentially dangerous situation with no authorisation or back up. He knew he was going to be in trouble.

Thatcher picked up the large ceremonial knife from her desk and eyed Turnbull's lanyard. She was actually in two minds about this, he had acted bravely, there was no doubt about that, but the RCMP had protocols and procedures for a reason and she couldn't believe that Turnbull, of all people, had blatantly disregarded those.

Turnbull's lower lip began to tremble, but then he found some inner strength from somewhere. "Sir, if I may just say something first," he began nervously, he'd never spoken to the Inspector like this, but he figured if he was going to get suspended from the job he loved so much he may as well say what he wanted to say. Thatcher was so stunned, she lowered the knife and nodded. "I realise that I failed to follow proper procedures and I apologise, however in this instance I felt that...I felt that doing so would put a civilian's life in further danger. Furthermore," he was getting more confident now, "furthermore Sir, if another life were in peril, I would do it all again."

As he finished speaking he let out a whimper. What was wrong with him? He should have fallen to his knees told her how sorry he was, he should have offered to clean the Consulate from floor to ceiling, or polish all the silver, or clean the oven...oh dear, she still has the knife in her hand. He bowed his head in shame.

"Turnbull, don't stand there like that," scolded the Inspector and Turnbull immediately stood to attention. "Fraser, you may as well come in," she called out.

The door opened slowly. "How did, um, how did you know I was..." began Fraser rather sheepishly.

"Because I know you Fraser," sighed the Inspector. She looked at the knife in her hand and then put it down on her desk.

"If I may just add at this juncture Sir, that it was in fact at my request that Constable Turnbull first began the search for Melissa McIntyre," said Fraser, rubbing at his eyebrow with his fingertips, "Detective Vecchio and I had hoped to join him far sooner than we were able, although eventually, as it turned out, we weren't needed."

"Yes, yes, I know all that Fraser, I read both of your reports," Inspector Thatcher looked Turnbull squarely in the eye, sending a shiver of fear down the spine of the younger Constable. "Look, I know that, under the circumstances, delaying the search could have resulted in a tragic outcome and I do understand that sometimes it is necessary to bend the rules slightly, especially when lives are at stake."

"You...you do?" stammered Turnbull. "I...I can assure you that I w...would never consider going against the proper protocol in any other circumstances."

Thatcher resisted the urge to smile at him. "I know," she said, her voice becoming more gentle with each word, "and I also know that in this case, you have a personal, um, connection with the victim." She saw Turnbull's cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink and suppressed another smile. "I have given this careful consideration and I believe that I can overlook the slightly unorthodox way you went about things, Constable. I'll make sure I gloss over the details in my report. In fact, I'll make sure that my superiors are fully aware of your heroic actions. Now get out of my office Constable, before I change my mind."

"Oh yes Sir, thank you Sir," Turnbull beamed at her, "you won't regret this Sir, I promise I'll fulfil my duties to your highest expectations and..."

"Dismissed Constable!" exclaimed the Inspector and Turnbull saluted and ran out of the office.

Fraser was just about to follow him when he paused. "Thank you Sir," he said seriously, "Melissa McIntyre owes Constable Turnbull her life, he surprised me that day with his level headedness and practical skills."

"Indeed," agreed the Inspector. "I do understand that Fraser." Her face became a little sad then and Fraser's heart fluttered. "I know our American friends have certain names for me..." she began.

"Well, I, er..."Fraser fumbled.

"It's alright," she interrupted him, "I'm not completely oblivious to what they think about me, but I do have feelings you know, I do have compassion."

"Yes Sir," replied Fraser. He was more aware than most of her feelings. He swallowed hard. He felt an overwhelming urge to hug her, not just to thank her for sparing Turnbull from disciplinary action, but to reassure her that there was someone who understood her. Well, at least he understood her sometimes. Other times he didn't understand her at all. It took every ounce of his self control to resist that urge.

Inspector Thatcher saw something in his eyes though, she saw a flicker of emotion. She knew he rarely let his emotions show and yet he'd let his guard slip in front of her. For the briefest of moments she saw into his soul and she liked what she saw. Now she was having urges of her own, she was fighting the urge to throw herself at him, to tear his clothes off, to offer herself to him completely...good god she'd never felt this way about anyone before, she thought, why him? He's one of the most irritating men she'd ever known, why was she infatuated with him? Infatuated, yes, that was the only word for it. She was breathing hard now and of course Fraser noticed. He could probably tell exactly what was going through her mind, she realised. She must have been giving off all sorts of signals that his sharp senses would have most likely perceived.

"Dismissed," she snapped suddenly. How many times had she done that? She couldn't even remember, but professionalism was her safety mechanism, it was how she protected herself...and him, in this instance...from getting into all kinds of trouble.

If Fraser was a little stunned he didn't let it show. "Yes Sir," he replied, turning on his heels.

"Fraser," she called after him and he immediately spun round again to face her. "Merry Christmas," she half smiled.

Fraser allowed himself a similarly restrained display of emotion. "Merry Christmas to you," he said quietly and left the room.

xXx

Damien was allowed out of hospital a few days before Christmas and moved into Ray's apartment. There really wasn't room for three people to live there and Ray found himself spending as much time at work as he could. Welsh was going to wonder what had happened when he came back, Ray thought with a smirk as he finished off the last of the outstanding reports on his desk.

Fraser had also been spending most of his time over the last few days at the Twenty Seventh. Inspector Thatcher had flown to Toronto to spend Christmas with her family and had agreed that Melissa could stay at the Consulate until she got back. She just couldn't bring herself to spend any time alone yet and the thought of moving back to her own apartment terrified her. Consequently Constable Turnbull had also been a constant presence.

"So ya didn't feel like playin' gooseberry again?" Ray grinned when his buddy explained the situation.

Fraser frowned. "I am unaware of that particular game," he said, "is it similar to bobbing for apples?"

Ray let his head drop to his desk with a thud. "No buddy," he mumbled. He lifted his head again. "I meant, ya didn't want to get in the way of the, er, lovebirds."

"Ah," Fraser nodded. He wouldn't have described Turnbull and Melissa as lovebirds, not yet anyway. For the moment they were simply enjoying each other's company, singing country music, discussing their commemorative pencil collections and watching terrible old Christmas movies on TV. Turnbull had taken her to watch a curling match and she'd fallen in love with the game, so Turnbull had also been taking the opportunity to show her some of the best games he had on videotape.

"Ya know my Mum's invited them over for Christmas dinner," said Ray, "I have no idea how we're all gonna fit in my place."

"Perhaps I should decline her invitation after all," Fraser began, but Ray was having none of that.

"No way buddy!" he exclaimed, "if ya think I'm gonna spend Christmas with my folks and Turnbull and his sweetheart then you're wrong."

Fraser was about to object to Ray's rather derogatory description of Melissa and Turnbull, when Ray grinned. "Besides, you're my best buddy, I want ya to come."

Fraser smiled and nodded. "Thank you kindly Ray."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Christmas dinner went very smoothly. Fraser had constructed a long dining table out of...well, Ray wasn't sure what it was made of actually, but it was sturdy and functional and big enough for everyone to sit around. Barbara Kowalski produced a huge feast and everyone overate. "More pumpkin pie anyone?" asked Barbara, just as Ray was starting to fall asleep at the table.

"Jeez Mum, how many of those did ya make?" asked Ray, rubbing his stomach gently to try to relieve some of the discomfort.

"Three," replied Barbara. "Well you young men need feeding up, you're far too skinny, especially you Stanley."

"Leave the boy alone," Damien chided his wife, "he needs to be lean to chase all those criminals. The last thing this city needs is a plus size cop." He looked down at his own belly dejectedly. He'd actually lost a few pounds since his diagnosis, partly because he was on a strict diet now as certain foods could aggravate his condition, but also partly because of the worry. He'd not had much of an appetite at all.

Ray grinned. "Ya keep goin' like that Dad and I'll have ya out on the streets chasin' the scumbags for me."

Damien laughed. He was so proud of his son, he was so proud of his chosen career, but after everything that had happened between them he wasn't sure how he could ever express that. He didn't recognise the man he used to be at all now. He had no idea why he'd objected so strongly to Raymond becoming a Police officer all those years ago, but something had clicked in his mind and he'd been too stubborn ever since to admit that he was wrong, either to himself or to his son. He needed to correct that as soon as possible, he had to tell Raymond how he felt. He hoped that he already knew, he felt sure that Raymond understood, somehow, on some level, but that was no excuse. He had to put his feelings into words and talk to Raymond, really talk to him, before it was too late. The last couple of weeks had made Damien more painfully aware of his own mortality than he'd ever been and he also realised that his son risked his own life every day to protect the citizens of Chicago. God forbid anything were to happen to Raymond, Damien thought, he would never forgive himself if he hadn't told his son how sorry he was for all those lost years.

Fraser had noticed Damien had become lost in his thoughts. He glanced at Barbara who'd noticed it too. "Well if everyone's finished eating, I'll start clearing away," said Barbara, "Stanley, why don't you see what's on TV? I think they're showing Miracle on 34th Street again, that's such a wonderful movie isn't it Damien." Damien hated that movie, but he wasn't going to tell his wife that, he knew it was one of her favourites, so he just smiled and nodded.

"Let me help you Barbara," offered Mel, "that was the most delicious ham I've ever had. What did you put in the glaze?"

"Ah well that's my little secret," smiled Barbara.

"Allow me to assist you as well," offered Fraser, surveying the remains of the meal and the state of Ray's tiny kitchen area. Barbara nodded appreciatively.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to empty my bladder," Turnbull announced and headed for the bathroom while Ray and his Dad settled themselves on the sofa, pushing a sleepy Diefenbaker onto the floor to make room.

As Fraser began washing pots and pans, Barbara salvaged all the leftovers and wrapped them up before putting them in Ray's fridge. His friend's fridge had never been so well stocked, Fraser observed, since his mother had been living with him. He knew that Ray was getting to the end of his tether though, having his parents there had been an extremely testing time, but Fraser had noticed that Ray and his Dad had been more relaxed in each other's company during the meal today than he'd ever seen them before. He was so pleased, they had both made so much effort to rebuild their relationship and Fraser knew how hard that must have been for both of them.

Fraser just wished he'd had the same opportunity with his own father, although they were getting along much better now since his father had died. To anyone else that statement would have sounded like a sick joke, Fraser realised with a tiny laugh to himself, but to him it was the truth. The first time Bob Fraser had appeared in the back seat of the real Ray Vecchio's 1972 green Buick Riviera, Fraser had assumed he'd finally lost all of his marbles, however, as inexplicable as it was, he now realised that the ghost of his dead father really did live in a supernatural cabin in his closet at the Consulate and he really did visit him regularly with helpful and sometimes not so helpful advice. Fraser had learnt a long time ago not to question the logic of it any more. Some things simply couldn't be explained by logic, or by the same rules as other things in this world, the Inuit had taught him that. So now he accepted it. His father hadn't appeared yet today though, but Fraser hoped he would visit him before the day was over.

Suddenly Fraser was aware that Melissa was breathing heavily and her eyes were closed. She was holding a plate in one hand, but she'd frozen in the middle of drying it with a tea towel. "Melissa," he said as gently as he could. Mel's eyes snapped open and she screamed and dropped the plate. Fraser plucked it out of the air before it had a chance to hit the floor. His almost superhuman feat amazed Mel and brought her back to reality. "I'm so sorry I startled you," he said. "Are you alright?"

Mel nodded, but he could tell that she was anything but alright. "Another flashback?" he whispered and she nodded.

"When is all this going to be over?" she asked in a trembling voice. Fraser wished he could give her a definitive answer, but they both knew he couldn't.

"You're doing so well," he said, squeezing her shoulder supportively, "but it's going to take time. Perhaps you should reconsider visiting a counsellor? I know you've already rejected the idea, but I've seen this particular kind of therapy work so well for other people in your position. All you have to do is talk to him or her, it's not as hard as you might imagine."

Mel looked at him and nodded slowly. "OK," she said quietly. She knew she couldn't go on like this, she wanted to get her life back, she wanted to be able to go to the mall or take a walk in the park on a Sunday morning without the constant fear that she was carrying around now. She knew Trafford was in jail and he was going to be staying there for a long time, but she just didn't feel safe anymore, unless Turnbull was with her...or Fraser or Ray, but that wasn't quite the same as having Turnbull by her side.

Fraser beckoned for Turnbull to come and join them. He'd been enthusiastically pointing out the continuity errors in Miracle on 34th Street and ruining the whole movie for Ray. Reluctantly, the younger Mountie dragged himself away from the TV. "Constable Turnbull, I think you should take Melissa back to the Consulate now, she is a little...tired."

Mel really appreciated Fraser's discretion. She didn't really want Turnbull to know how badly she'd been affected by what happened to her. "Thanks," she smiled at Fraser as Turnbull went to fetch their coats.

"He won't think any less of you," Fraser said, lowering his voice so that Turnbull wouldn't hear him.

Mel hung her head, she knew he was right, she wanted to talk to Turnbull, she trusted him and she knew he would be sympathetic to her feelings. He was a cop, he knew how these things worked out, he knew how even the strongest people could find it hard to cope sometimes. "I know," she said. She was determined not to start the New Year in the same way as the current one had ended. She was determined to do something positive to help herself. She had to look to the future and maybe her future would include Turnbull...her heart skipped a beat at that last thought.

Turnbull quickly returned with her coat and slipped it around her shoulders. Then he put his arm protectively around her waist and they headed for the door, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas before they went.

They left Ray's apartment building hand in hand. After a few minutes Mel relaxed her grip, rotated her hand slightly and interlocked her fingers with Turnbull's. He didn't object or even say anything about it so they continued walking like that. Mel wanted to ask him something, she'd been thinking about it for a few days, but wasn't sure how she was going to say it. "Turnbull," she began nervously, "I have a spare room in my apartment..."

"Well that must be very useful for storage," replied Turnbull.

Mel sighed, he wasn't getting it was he... She tried a different approach. "Ray told me the other day that you, um, live in a cardboard box."

"That's correct," he answered proudly, "and very nice it is too."

Mel wasn't sure if he was joking. Ray had told her that he wasn't even sure if it was true or not, but that's what Fraser had told him. Maybe it was some kind of Mountie joke, she wondered. Yesterday, Fraser had made a joke about a polar bear standing on his head. She hadn't got it at all and neither had Ray, but Fraser and Turnbull had both had tears of laughter streaming down their faces. "Well, the thing is...I know I can't stay at the Consulate for much longer and I need to move back home, but..." her voice trailed off and she stopped walking, pulling Turnbull round to face her. "I'm scared," she admitted quietly. "I'm scared of being alone. Every noise, every time I hear someone slam their door, every time I hear Mr and Mrs Petretski downstairs throwing things at each other...a dog barking, a car pulling up...I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep, Turnbull I'm a wreck..." Her voice cracked.

Turnbull squeezed her hand tightly. "Melissa, you're not a wreck," he smiled, "you're experiencing anxiety and very few people in your position would feel any differently."

Mel tried to smile too. "I know," she nodded, "but...it's just that I've got used to having you there. I...I was wondering..."

"Wondering what?" Turnbull interrupted her. He suddenly realised what she might be trying to ask him, why she'd told him about her spare room, but he was trying not to get his hopes up too high. He was used to being let down, people always let him down and he'd learned to live with it, he didn't want to get too excited, he was probably reading this all wrong anyway. His heart was racing now though.

"I thought maybe you'd like to move in with me," she asked, rushing out her question quickly before she could stumble over her words, "as...as a roommate, I mean, I'm not...I don't want you to think...not that I don't...I'll need to get a bed for the other room, and anything else you need, er, a nightstand and maybe some drawers..." She was babbling now, she realised, she was getting too excited. He was going to say no anyway, she thought to herself, he was obviously happy in his cardboard box. He was a man of few possessions, she'd realised that now, so the promise of new furniture wasn't going to persuade him. Like Fraser, he didn't need home comforts, Fraser seemed happy living in his office, sleeping in his poor excuse for a bed and she assumed Turnbull was the same. He was going to say no.

"Yes," he replied suddenly, his smile broadening, "yes, I'd...I'd like that very much. If my presence will be of comfort to you, then I'll gladly become your roommate at the earliest opportunity." He raised his hand, pulling hers with it and lifted it to his lips. Gently he kissed her knuckles. "I can think of nowhere else I'd rather live."

Mel threw her arms around him and held him, trying to hide her tears of happiness. She never wanted to let him go, not now, not ever.

Turnbull couldn't have been happier. He'd never had a roommate before, unless you counted Greg Astley when he was at the Training Academy. That hadn't been a particularly enjoyable experience though, Greg kept putting dog poop in Turnbull's bed, apparently it was meant to be amusing, so Turnbull had taken to sleeping out by the stables. He was glad Melissa wasn't a fan of practical jokes. This was going to be nothing like that at all, this was going to be...special. He briefly allowed his mind to wander...storage space might be useful, he thought, if we had things to store, Christmas decorations perhaps, so maybe he shouldn't take up the spare room forever, perhaps...no, no, too soon. For now he would live with her as a friend and make her feel safe. That was enough for now.

Mel was having similar thoughts of course. He'd said yes and she could hardly believe how happy she was. They were just friends, very close friends, but she knew that she loved him. What else could she feel? She wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for him and she would always love him for that reason alone, even if this was as far as their relationship ever went. Perhaps one day...maybe this could lead to something more, she wondered. Maybe by next Christmas they could be... She sighed. For now all she knew was that this man saved her life and she wanted him close to her while she healed. She had no idea how long that was going to take and she knew she should take things slowly with Turnbull. At this very moment though, it all felt so right. Spontaneously she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Turnbull blushed and tried, but failed to say something. Instead he held her hand tightly again, interlocking their fingers once more and they walked back to the Consulate.

xXx

"He's a strange one, that Turnbull," said Damien after he and Mel had left.

Ray laughed. "The guy's more of a freak than Fraser here, but it looks like he, er, makes Mel happy."

Barbara smiled. "They do seem perfect for each other," she agreed, "I don't know what we were ever thinking when we tried matchmaking Stanley."

Ray shrugged. "Just don't try it again OK."

"Anyway Raymond, you were going to show me those citations," said Damien. "I'm ashamed to say I've never asked to see them before Benton. Well I want to see them now, but Raymond is very shy about his service record."

"Yeah, well it's nothin' special really," shrugged Ray, "I think I put 'em in a shoebox over here," he said, walking over to his bookcase.

"Oh dear," mumbled Fraser, glancing at Barbara.

Ray immediately realised something was going on. "What?" he said, "what are ya plottin' with my Mum buddy?"

"Plotting?" Fraser tried his best innocent face, but Ray saw right through it. He pulled the battered shoebox from the shelf and rummaged through all his old Police paperwork, but his citations weren't in there. He looked at Fraser with his eyebrows raised, expecting an explanation.

"I think I should probably give you your Christmas present now Stanley," said Barbara glancing nervously at Fraser. She went into the bedroom and came back with a neatly wrapped parcel. "I'm sorry it's not more, but your Dad and I don't have a lot of money at the moment," she said apologetically.

Ray smiled. His folks had never had a lot of money. He remembered Christmasses as a kid, he always had a lot of presents under the tree, but most of them were second hand, bought from thrift stores or garage sales. He hadn't really minded and any of his so called friends who picked on him over it soon regretted it after Ray's temper got the better of him in the schoolyard. He tore the brightly coloured paper off to reveal his three citations, neatly mounted in silver frames. He was speechless and he choked back tears as he handed them to his Dad to read for the first time. He threw his arms around Barbara. "Thanks Mum," he said. Then he looked at Fraser. "I guess it was you, er, told her where they were?" Fraser nodded sheepishly.

"They deserve to be on display Stanley," said Barbara. "Your father and I are so proud of you, aren't we Damien."

Damien carefully put down the frames and stood up. "Yes Son," he began, his voice cracking with emotion, "we are," and he hugged Ray tightly. He couldn't believe the words he'd just read on the citation certificates. His son had saved a child's life, even though he'd already taken a bullet himself, then he rescued four innocent people from three gunmen and then he'd single handedly recaptured three dangerous fugitives. His son had done all of those things and yet he'd had no idea, all this time and Damien had had no idea. He swallowed hard to stop himself becoming completely overwhelmed with emotion.

Fraser took a step backwards and let the Kowalski's have a family moment.

"Warms your heart doesn't it Son."

Fraser jumped at the sound of his father's voice. "Hi Dad, I thought you might show up," he said, then his voice softened. "Merry Christmas Dad," he added, suddenly wishing he could hug his own father just like Ray. Even when he'd been alive, Fraser's Dad had never been one for hugging. In fact most displays of emotion had been apparently beyond his capabilities.

"Merry Christmas Benton," nodded Bob.

"So what exactly have you been doing today?" asked Fraser, as Dief started growling at the ghost.

"Just the usual Christmas things Son," replied Bob, "roasting chestnuts, singing carols, that sort of thing."

Fraser shook his head in disbelief. Of course he had, he thought incredulously, what else would they do in the afterlife? "Well, that's, um, nice," Fraser said, unsure exactly how he should respond.

"What is with your wolf today?" asked Bob, scowling at Dief who was still growling at him.

"Ah, it's most likely your choice of headgear Dad," replied Fraser, "I believe those are known as head boppers? Wearing flashing Santa's mounted on springs on your head is disturbing his sensibilities."

"Where's his Christmas spirit?" asked Bob in disgust.

"I believe he's eaten it," retorted Fraser, glaring at Dief and then his father was gone.

xXx

A little later, after Damien and Barbara had both snoozed through another Christmas movie on TV and Fraser had beaten Ray at Scrabble for the ninth time, Dief was starting to get restless. "I should probably be going," said Fraser.

"Already?" asked a sleepy Barbara, "but there's so much food left? Won't you stay a little longer?"

Fraser knew he couldn't eat another mouthful, but Dief's ears had pricked up at the mention of more food so Fraser sat with Damien and Ray while Barbara filled another plate of food for the wolf. "Have you heard from your insurance company yet?" Fraser asked Ray's Dad.

"Yes we have," replied Damien, "but you know how these things go, it'll probably be months before we get the money through. We do have a plan though..." his voice trailed off and he glanced towards the kitchen, "perhaps I should wait for your mother."

Ray was suddenly nervous. "What plan Dad?" he asked.

"Well, we've decided that we can't wait for the money, so we're going to hire another motorhome temporarily and do a little more travelling," explained Damien, "go east this time, maybe head for Massachusetts, your mother's always loved that song."

Barbara walked back just in time to see her son's face fall. "I assume your Dad's told you about our travel plans," she said. "I'm sorry, but we've got itchy feet. You could always come with us?"

Ray laughed. "Jeez Mum thanks, but I can't. Massachusetts? Really? This time of year? I think I'd rather face the crackheads in Chicago than spend weeks on end in a freezin' tin can on wheels."

"I love the winter Stanley," replied Barbara, "our country is so beautiful, you really should explore it someday."

Ray laughed. "OK, someday maybe I will, but first place I'm goin' is LA...in June. Sandy beaches, girls in bikinis...what d'ya say buddy? You and me on a, er, road trip, are ya with me?"

Fraser laughed too. "Well I must say, that does sound rather fun. We'll have to share the driving though, driving for prolonged periods is terribly dangerous."

"Well thanks for the advice, Mr Health and Safety," replied Ray sarcastically. Then he looked at his Mum. "I bet Dad doesn't let ya near the wheel at all, right?" he laughed.

Suddenly Damien wasn't laughing any more. He looked sadly at his wife. Ray was immediately concerned. "What's the matter Dad?" he asked. Damien was silent.

"Tell him Damien," urged Barbara.

Ray was starting to get really worried now. "What? Tell me what?"

Damien hung his head sadly. "They took away my licence Raymond."

"What!" exclaimed Ray, "Why? What for? What did ya do?"

"I didn't do anything," replied Damien, "at least, not the kind of thing you're thinking. They said I'm unfit to drive, what with having this goddamn epilepsy now." His voice cracked with emotion and he couldn't speak any more.

Ray was close to tears himself. "I'm...I'm sorry Dad." Driving was his Dad's life, throughout his whole childhood they would go out for family drives, they weren't going anywhere in particular, but his Dad had just enjoyed driving so much. They'd always had an old car in pieces in front of their house, a project that he and his Dad would work on together until it was fully restored and then Damien would drive it. He'd drive far out of the city, onto open roads, just so he could feel the engine reach its full potential. Of course driving a motorhome wasn't the same as a classic car, but the principal was still the same. He still had the freedom to start up the engine and go anywhere he wanted, but now it seemed that had been cruelly taken away from him. It wasn't fair, how was this fair? "Why didn't ya tell me?"

"It might only be temporary," Barbara explained. "If his medication works out and he can prove he's not going to have a fit at the wheel, then he may be able to reapply for his licence in six months to a year."

Ray let out a small breath. So there was still a glimmer of hope, but six months to a year was going to feel like forever for his Dad. Ray instinctively hugged his father again. "Why don't ya hang around here until ya can get your licence back?" he asked.

Damien was a little taken aback. "Don't worry about me Raymond," he said, trying to stay positive about it, "I'm really looking forward to this trip. I'll be able to take in the scenery for a change. Your mother is a perfectly good driver."

"Yes and you're the worst passenger in the world," laughed Barbara. She smiled at Ray as he released his Dad from his arms. "We talked about staying in Chicago Stanley, but all of this has made us realise how precious time is. When you get to our age you don't want to put things off for too long."

"Hey, don't talk like that Mum," snapped Ray. He couldn't bear to think that way about his folks.

"Now come on Raymond," said Damien, "I'm sure we have a few good years left in us yet, but we really need to get back on the road, it's our life. We won't be gone for long though, I promise we'll be back in a few months."

"And we'll call you every week," smiled Barbara, "this is different to the last time, we're never going to lose touch with you again Stanley, not now, I love you."

That was it, Ray couldn't hold back his tears any longer. "I love you too Mum," he said, "and you Dad." He took a moment to compose his thoughts and wipe the tears from his face. "I know ya love travellin', but I'm just gonna miss ya so much."

"And we'll miss you too, but we'll be back before you know it," said Damien, patting his son affectionately on the back. "This has been the best Christmas day we've had in years."

xXx

Fraser could tell that Ray needed to get some air and he suggested they walk Dief together, even though the wolf had settled himself back down quite comfortably and really didn't want to go out. They left Ray's parents dozing again and headed out into the cold evening. Ray was unusually quiet. "Are you alright Ray?" asked Fraser.

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I guess," he replied. "I just didn't think my folks would be leavin' already."

"As your father said Ray, they only plan to be gone for a few months at most," Fraser pointed out, "this isn't like the last time, this isn't like Arizona."

Ray nodded. "Yeah I know," he managed half a smile. "Y'know, they drive me nuts sometimes, but I don't know what I'd do without them now."

Fraser nodded solemnly.

"Oh jeez buddy, I'm sorry," Ray could have kicked himself in the head for being so insensitive. "I guess ya miss your folks at this time of year."

"I miss them all year round," replied Fraser quietly.

Ray laid a supportive hand on his buddy's back. "I know," he said.

Fraser tried to change the subject. "It was good news about Tamara Hoffman," he said. "She still has a long fight ahead of her, but at least she's out of danger now. Luke must be so pleased that he is able to share Christmas with his wife."

"Yeah," agree Ray, "I wasn't sure she was gonna make it."

"Indeed," agreed Fraser. Then he went quiet again.

"So," Ray said brightly, changing the subject again, "Turnbull and Mel, what are the odds on those two gettin' together? Properly I mean."

"I would suggest, given current evidence, that the odds are quite high," replied Fraser.

Ray watched as his breath twisted out of his mouth against the freezing air. "Ya know he'll ask ya to be his Best Man," he grinned.

"Good heavens Ray, I think we might be getting a little ahead of ourselves, don't you?" laughed Fraser.

"Yeah well, maybe," admitted Ray, "I, er, I guess I'm just a hopeless romantic, or somethin'."

Fraser laughed. "Perhaps your parents might find you a suitable romantic companion on their travels?"

"Woah, no way, I'm not lettin' them try that again," laughed Ray. "I'll find someone, you'll see." He grinned at his partner. "And so will you buddy, there's a great girl out there for ya somewhere, I guess, er, we're just not lookin' hard enough? Next year is gonna be our year, two hot chicks for two hot cops, I can feel it Benton Buddy. Maybe we'll find 'em in LA?"

Fraser laughed again. "Are you being serious about this road trip?" he asked.

"Why not?" shrugged Ray. "We've gotta have somethin' to look forward to besides bustin' dope dealers and solvin' homicides?"

Fraser thought for a moment. He'd never been to anywhere like Los Angeles before, it sounded far too hot for his liking, but he thought perhaps he could tolerate it for a few days. "Alright then," he said finally, "we'll do it."

Ray grinned from ear to ear. "Greatness," he said. "Merry Christmas Fraser."

Fraser smiled too. "Merry Christmas Ray."

THE END


End file.
